


Ficlet Collection - or "Sam can't seem to stop writing and she wants to put it all on one place"

by constellationqueen



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Domestic Fluff, Ficlet Collection, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, PDA, Post-Canon, Smut, artist!neil, being outed to the press, some of it is during canon too, there's very little kandreil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 30,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6392305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constellationqueen/pseuds/constellationqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is just me really really liking to have all of my poop in a group, so like... all of these can be found on my tumblr, but here they are in a collection as well</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for [Adriana](http://sing-for-your-lover.tumblr.com/)
> 
> "Could you do "you always this quiet?" for andreil? Thank you!"

“Do you guys do walk-ins?”

Neil looks up from where he’s filling out some paperwork to file on a client that just scheduled an appointment. The blond man standing in front of him has an arm braced on the glass countertop, peering through at the miscellaneous piercings inside.

“For a piercing or for a tattoo?” Neil asks, though honestly he’s not sure about either. He’s only been here for a week, and they’re busy, but not swamped. At least, Neil isn’t. Kevin is the best tattoo artist in the southeast; he’s always busy.

“Tattoo,” the blond man replies without looking up.

“Let me check.” Neil walks off towards the back, knocking on the door to Kevin’s room and peering in. “Hey, so this guy just walked in and he’s wondering if we have time for a tattoo. Like now.”

Without even pausing his work, Kevin says, “If he’s comfortable letting you touch him without supervision, sure. Otherwise he’s going to have to make an appointment.”

Sighing, Neil walks back out to the lobby. The blond is currently flipping through Neil’s sketch portfolio. Neil clears his throat. “I have time, if you don’t mind me tattooing you.”

The blond gestures at the portfolio. “This yours?”

“Yeah.”

“Then by all means.”

———

It takes a half hour for the blond - Andrew Joseph Minyard, according to his drivers license - to fill out the appropriate forms and for Neil to sketch up the design that Andrew wants. Positioning it takes another five minutes, and getting the ink and the gun set up another three.

Neil likes tattooing thighs because it’s a large area of smooth skin. And he likes this design in particular because it’s watercolor, and he’s free to play around with it.

“You always this quiet?” Andrew asks when Neil is rinsing the gun to move onto a different color. The tattoo is almost halfway done and Neil didn’t realize that he had been silent, or even that so much time had passed.

“Hmm? Sorry, did you want me to talk to you? I’m really not that interesting.” _I have a lot of secrets_ , is what he means, but of course he doesn’t say that.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Neil rubs the back of his wrist across his forehead and purses his lips as he leans forward with the new color. “First tattoo?” he asks.

“How original,” Andrew drawls. “Yes. Yours?”

“First time I’ve done one without Kevin breathing down my neck.”

“Well that’s good to know. But I meant what was your first?”

Neil blinks, pulling away the gun for a moment. “I’ll show you if you tell me why you’re so tense.” He looks up and finds Andrew staring very intently at him, his eyes narrowed in thought.

“Fine,” Andrew says, and Neil goes back to work. “I don’t like it when people touch me.”

Neil’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t say anything.

“There you go being quiet again,” Andrew accuses.

“If you wanted to tell me, I figured you would have. I’m not going to pry. I’m an artist, not a bartender.”

Andrew snorts, and Neil pulls the gun away to switch colors again.

———

The whole tattoo takes a little over an hour and a half, but when it’s done, a bright orange fox is jumping across Andrew’s thigh, edges smudged with reds and blues and oranges and yellows, trailing swirls of orange and yellow behind it. Andrew lets Neil take a picture of it for his work portfolio.

“Your turn,” Andrew says after the bandage has been put in place and Neil has handed Andrew instructions for how to take care of the tattoo.

Neil walks over to the door and shuts it.

“Is it that bad?” Andrew jokes, but Neil doesn’t comment and just takes his shirt off.

Neil waits for Andrew’s reaction, for his look of shock, disgust, horror, at the scars marring his chest. There are tattoos scattered here and there, trying to take the focus away from the horrors of his skin, but Neil only ever sees the scars. 

But Andrew doesn’t react. His face remains impassive, but his eyes are interested. “So which one was your first?”

“This one,” Neil says, tracing the scar on his collarbone. “And this one,” he adds as he points to the angry tattoo that claws up his side with sharp lines and talons and teeth.

Andrew stands up, hardly favoring the leg with the new tattoo, and walks over to trace his fingers up the dark mass of ink. “Did you tattoo yourself?”

“Yeah.” Neil nods, moving his arm back so that Andrew can follow the whole design with his hands. 

When he has reached the top, Andrew hums and steps back, and Neil pulls his shirt back on.

After he pays for the tattoo, Andrew slips Neil his number. “I want the story behind that,” Andrew says, nodding to Neil’s side. “Don’t make me wait.” And he leaves Neil standing speechless at the counter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for [Taylor](http://wymack.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ""I need to go" & "just stay with me" fucking destroy me I'm expecting angst from this"

Life-altering calls are supposed to happen at night, when the world is dark and quiet, a willing participant to heartbreak and pain.

This one comes at three in the afternoon.

It’s Dan. “Neil…” She sounds like she’s been crying. Maybe she still is. “Neil, oh, god, Neil. Wymack… Fuck, Neil, he’s dead. I’m so-”

Neil doesn’t hear the rest of the call because he has already disconnected and dropped his phone. 

 _Wymack is dead._  

Neil puts his head in his hands and tries to figure out why breathing is suddenly so difficult. Death is part of Neil’s life, he’s numb to it. But this feels like a punch to the gut, a kick to the ribs, a blow to the head. The world stops and tilts and starts spinning again faster than Neil can keep up.

“Neil.” Andrew’s voice from the doorway jars Neil from his shock, and he’s on his feet and at the front door before he even knows what he’s doing.

Andrew grabs Neil’s elbow and grips tightly. “Don’t you dare.” Neil hasn’t run away in years. But this is too much. Too much, so much, Wymack is _dead -_

“Andrew -” Neil barely stops himself from saying please. “I need to go. Andrew, I can’t… I need to go. Let me go.” Neil jerks his arm away from Andrew as soon as his grip slackens, and then Neil is gone.

He runs because it’s all he knows how to do. All he can think about is putting as many miles between himself and his problems, and he won’t cry. He won’t fucking cry. 

Neil is on the very edge of town when his legs just can’t go any further. He stumbles to a stop and falls to his knees. He doesn’t care about the pain of his knees slamming into concrete. He doesn’t care about the fire in his legs or the barbed wire wrapped around his lungs or the knife in his side. 

_Wymack is dead._

Neil doesn’t have enough breath to scream his agony, but he curls in on himself and slams his palm into the ground, over and over again until he rips his skin open and starts bleeding. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t, because Wymack is dead and Neil has a gaping hole in his chest and he realizes now why getting close to people is a bad idea.

Hard hands pull Neil up enough that a body can insert itself in front of him. “Jesus, Neil,” Andrew growls, pulling Neil to him and holding him protectively.

Neil buries his face against Andrew’s shaking shoulder. Andrew is shaking. “Did Dan tell you?” Neil asks between gasps of breath that sound and feel a lot like dry sobs.

“Shut up.” This time Andrew’s snarl sounds a lot more wounded and a lot less angry.

“Just stay with me.” Getting close to people is dangerous and destructive and Neil thinks that Wymack’s death is just the first in a long line of deaths that will rip Neil to shreds and leave him bleeding and gasping and unable to put himself back together. When Andrew dies, Neil won’t recover; he knows that. But Neil would be more willing to quit Exy than to lose Andrew. “Just stay with me,” he repeats, begging, needing Andrew to never let him go.

“You’re the one that keeps leaving,” Andrew snaps, and it’s such a typical _Andrew_  reaction that Neil clutches Andrew to him and laughs while he cries into Andrew’s shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "andreil and the first time andrew is interested in neil with the cats/the first time neil sees andrew be affectionate with the cats?"

Neil comes back from a long run, winded and shaking because he pushed himself too hard. It’s the end of a stressful week and Neil needed to get rid of his nervous energy. He doesn’t mind that he feels like throwing up or that there’s a real danger of just collapsing on the floor and never moving again. The burn in his lungs and the restful state of his mind are enough to balance out the negatives.

“I see you’re back, finally,” Andrew says from the desk, where he’s bent over something. Paperwork, maybe. It’s difficult to say with Andrew. “How far did you have to run this time to escape your demons?”

Neil doesn’t have the breath for a proper retort, so he just grunts and leans back against the door, waiting for his legs to stop feeling like rubber before he attempts to walk to the shower.

Andrew turns to him then, rotating the chair so that he can appraise Neil. “You look like a hot mess.”

“Oh, better than I feel, then,” Neil says without malice, voice soft and rough around the edges from his dry throat. He tips his head forward to look at Andrew properly, and his mouth almost opens in an exclamation. 

Their short haired tortoiseshell, Sir Fat Cat, is comfortably curled up on Andrew’s lap, sides rising and falling with each slow breath. Neil can almost hear him purring from where he is standing against the door. 

Neil glances back up to Andrew’s eyes, looking for some answer, but Andrew doesn’t even give Neil a challenging look. His eyes are flat, eyebrows raised like he’s expecting an answer from Neil as well.

But Neil just smiles and says that he’s going to shower, okay babe? Andrew rolls his eyes and turns back to the desk, and Neil pushes away from the door. 

He doesn’t stop smiling all the way through supper, when Andrew finally gets tired of it and kisses that smug look off his face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "andreil and preoccupation with hands and eyes? is that too vague for a prompt?"

It starts with Neil telling Andrew that his eyes burn in the evening sunlight, and Andrew glaring at him and saying, “Oh so you’re a fucking poet now? Add it to your resume.”

It continues when Andrew takes Neil’s hand while they’re on the roof smoking, and he runs his thumb over Neil’s scarred knuckles. After a short moment, he puts his cigarette out and throws it over the edge before turning fully to Neil. In one hand he holds Neil’s palm. With the other hand, he traces the scars that tell the story of damage done in just a single night.

Later, while they’re showering together, Neil takes Andrew’s hand and, when Andrew doesn’t pull away, Neil moves his fingers over calluses and a few small scars. “What are these from?” he asks, tilting Andrew’s hand towards the light so that he can see them better.

“Renee,” Andrew answers. Neil looks sharply up at him, eyebrows drawn together, and Andrew fixates on the shadows that the motion casts over Neil’s eyes. “When she was teaching me how to use knives,” he clarifies, and Neil relaxes and goes back to mapping out Andrew’s other hand.

It comes full circle when Andrew pushes Neil down and kisses him like a drowning man starved for oxygen. He slides his fingers between Neil’s and holds his hands to the floor on either side of his head. Neil moans something soft into Andrew’s mouth and Andrew pulls back, looking down at the flush over Neil’s cheekbones, the redness of his kiss-swollen lips, the brightness of his eyes. 

“What?” Neil prods.

“Your fucking eyes,” Andrew growls, and kisses him to keep Neil from saying something stupid.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for [Taylor](http://wymack.tumblr.com/)
> 
> "High School AU where Andrew needs money so he has to spend his time tutoring Neil and he acts pissed off but Neil is hot af lmaooo"

Andrew growls as he reads over Neil’s paper. “No, fucking hell, are you completely brain dead?” He circles his red pen over Neil’s paper for what feels like the hundredth time. “Relief is spelled with an ‘ie’, don’t you know the ‘i before e’ rule?”

Neil shrugs and has the decency to look guilty. “The rule doesn’t always work.”

“Eighty percent of the time it does.”

“Sorry, your highness.”

Andrew glares but moves on, jabbing at the paper. “It’s called a fucking Oxford comma. Learn about it. Maybe you’ll start pulling off B’s instead of C’s.”

“You know, you could not growl at me.”

“I could, but you piss me off. And my ‘growling’ has improved you by one grade level already, so fuck off.”

“I’m not good at English.”

“Obviously.”

Neil mutters something in German under his breath, and Andrew snaps his eyes up and glares at him.

In German he demands, “What was that?”

Neil’s eyes widen and he looks up at Andrew with a mix of shock and intrigue. “You can speak German too? Where did you pick it up?”

Andrew sits back in his seat and folds his arms, glaring at the freshman with the stained dark hair and the bright blue eyes. At least something about him isn’t a lie. Andrew drags his eyes down to Neil’s toes and then back up to the roots of his hair. Neil is too much of a pain in the ass to be attractive, and yet Andrew would blow him in a heartbeat.

“Where did _you_  pick it up?” Andrew challenges.

Neil stammers. “Um, well, my mom and I lived in Germany for a while.” 

And they were back to lying, just like that. Finally a truth from Neil, and it’s immediately distilled with a lie.

What the fuck was he supposed to do with this kid? “Write me a better paper for next week or I’m done with you.” That is a lie in itself, but Neil doesn’t have to know that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "Andriel getting outed to the press. I know it's a common one but I can't get enough of it honestly."

Andrew and Neil are given press duty after a game gone well. It is the first and the last time they will ever face the press together.

Three questions are asked about the game, and then everything falls drastically down when one reporter pushes to the front and demands, “Is it true that you two are in a committed relationship? When did it start and why are you hiding it?”

Neil freezes, and Andrew flicks his eyes to the male reporter suddenly shoving a microphone towards them. Neil leans closer to Andrew to whisper in his ear, “How do they know?”

“Does it matter?” Andrew responds, just as low. “You’re not running anymore. Do you want them to know?”

“Do you?” They had slipped into German without realizing it, and the press is getting anxious.

Andrew flattens his lips into a thin line and glares at all of the cameras before he pulls Neil to him and kisses him. Neil makes a surprised noise, but doesn’t pull away. 

The reporters go crazy, snapping pictures and holding microphones out while everybody screams at once. Andrew rolls his eyes and pulls Neil away. He’s done talking to stupid people.

When they get back into the lounge area, Wymack and the other Foxes are staring at them. In the back of the room, Jack is cackling. Andrew doesn’t hesitate to walk up to Jack and punch him in the nose. Jack crumples, but Andrew pulls him back up by the collar. “If you ever interfere with my business again, I will kill you.”

Neil walks up to Andrew and tugs on his hand. Andrew lets Jack fall to the floor, and then he and Neil head to the locker rooms to change out and shower.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "could you try to do something with andrew and neil continuing the midnight practices after kevin graduates?"

Neil jumps when Andrew throws Neil’s shoes on his lap. “Are we going somewhere?” Neil asks, looking up at Andrew.

“Do I have to spell everything out for you?” Andrew already has his shoes on. Neil didn’t even notice Andrew moving around.

Rolling his eyes, Neil gets to his feet and tugs his shoes on, then follows Andrew out to the car. Andrew drives, as per usual, and Neil sits silently in his seat. It’s pitch black outside, only the streetlights illuminating the road, but even blindfolded Neil would know the way to the stadium.

Questions burn on Neil’s tongue as they walk inside, both going to the locker room and both changing into their practice gear. “Andrew?” Neil asks, but Andrew ignores him, picking up cones and his raquet. Neil grabs his racquet and a bucket of balls and follows Andrew onto the court, where Andrew has already set up the cones near the wall and if now turned to watch Neil approach. 

Neil dumps the balls onto the floor around him and stares at Andrew. “What are you doing?”

“Six,” Andrew responds, nodding his head sideways at the cones.

“Andrew -”

“ _Six_.”

Irritated, Neil scoops up a ball and throws it too hard at the wall, missing the cone on the rebound.

“It hasn’t been that long since Kevin left. Do better.”

Neil stuffs his annoyance down and gets another ball. This time is hits the cone and Andrew calls out another number. They continue until all of the cones are knocked over, and then Andrew goes to stand by the goal. 

Still annoyed that Andrew won’t tell him why he’s doing this, Neil gathers the balls and brings them down to the first fourth line. He’s about to throw, and Andrew still has his racquet resting on the ground, when Neil just can’t take it.

“Why are you doing this? You don’t give a shit about this game.”

Andrew stares at Neil for a long moment before he says, “You do.” Neil opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it. Andrew tilts his head. “Is that really why you’ve been so annoyed since we showed up?“

“I didn’t think you would do something you hate just so that I could keep doing something I love.”

Andrew shakes his head and points his racquet at Neil. “You forget. I don’t care enough about Exy to hate it. Now throw the fucking ball before I decide to make you run for it every time.”

Neil grins, and Andrew hits the first ball all the way down the pitch out of spite.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "so for the prompt how about the short amount of time when andrew and neil are on different teams after palmetto, and andrew comes to visit neil , fluff and smut ensue"

Neil’s phone rings for the first time in a month. He gets texts a lot, mostly from his old teammates from Palmetto, but calls are rare. “Hello?”

“Go outside.”

“Andrew? Do you know what time it is?”

“I’m not stupid. Go outside. I want you to look at something for me.”

Grumbling, Neil gets up and waves off his roommate, who also happened to be one of his teammates. They share an apartment together to keep the costs down. Neil shrugs on his jacket and shoves into his shoes and then walks down the stairs. “What am I supposed to be looking for?” he asks as he pushes out the door on the main level.

“To your left.”

Neil turns and squints across the parking lot. Leaning against a black Maserati is a pint-sized blond in a black jacket identical to Neil’s and roughed-up faded black jeans buried in black boots. Andrew lifts the hand not holding onto his phone and wiggles his fingers in a wave at Neil.

Not giving a shit about anything else, Neil pockets his phone and runs at Andrew. Neil is ready to stop so that he doesn’t plow into Andrew, but Andrew just holds his hands out and grabs Neil’s shoulders and pulls him in. Their arms are tight around each other, holding on desperately. It has been months since they’ve seen each other, and apparently Andrew has missed Neil just as much as Neil has missed Andrew.

They pull away before too long, and Andrew immediately has his hand on Neil’s chin, tipping his head more into the light. “Who hit you?”

“Some asshole from the Bengals. Sore loser,” Neil says, brushing off the deepening bruise high on his cheekbone as no big deal.

“I watched that game,” Andrew says, voice low. “I didn’t see it happen.”

Neil hums. “Caught me while I was behind the press post match.”

“You’re a fucking idiot. Stay in the cameras next time.”

“So you can keep tabs on me?” Neil grins.

Andrew glares. “Someone has to.”

There’s a short pause, both of them trying to find words to say after being apart for so long. Andrew’s hand tightens on Neil’s chin. “Yes or no?”

“Always yes.”

Andrew doesn’t hesitate to pull Neil into a kiss, and it’s hard and bruising with too much teeth and hands clutching hard at fistfuls of hair, but it’s everything that Neil wants and more. Andrew pushes Neil back against his car and Neil grunts but doesn’t complain further.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asks again, hands already moving to Neil’s belt.

“People could see us,” Neil whispers as he nips along Andrew’s jaw.

“Is that a no?” Andrew asks, stopping his hands but not pulling away yet.

“It’s not a no,” Neil says, running his fingers through Andrew’s hair.

Andrew isn’t satisfied. “But is it a yes?”

Neil growls softly and bites Andrew’s neck just under his jaw. “It’s definitely a yes.”

Andrew bites a spot just above Neil’s collarbone and starts sucking on it, and at the same time he takes Neil into his hand. Neil moans into Andrew’s ear and tightens his grip on Andrew’s hair.

To Neil’s delight, Andrew shivers. “Junkie,” Andrew snarls, finding a new place to bite on Neil’s neck.

Neil’s breath hitches and he leans into Andrew, who just shoves him back against the car. “Sorry,” Neil says, not sounding apologetic at all. “I haven’t had a fix in a while.”

Andrew’s hand tightens around Neil, and Neil drops his head to Andrew’s shoulder and tries to muffle his moan.

“I hate you,” Andrew says.

“No, you don’t,” Neil whispers, and he pulls back enough to find Andrew’s eyes in the partial darkness. Andrew is looking at Neil in a way that leaves Neil feeling raw and stripped down to his bones. In the next few seconds, Andrew pulls Neil into a kiss, and Neil buries his moan on Andrew’s tongue as his knees shake and Andrew brings him to climax.

Andrew holds Neil steady with a hand to his chest until Neil gets his bearings again and does his pants back up. Neil lifts Andrew’s hand and licks off the mess, and Andrew’s eyes burn while he watches. “Do you want me to do you?” Neil asks, not reaching for Andrew just yet.

“Don’t use your teeth,” Andrew says, moving to lean against the car next to Neil and lighting up a cigarette. 

Neil grins, taking Andrew’s nonchalance as a personal challenge. He sinks to his knees and kisses Andrew’s hips while he pulls Andrew’s pants low enough. After taking a moment to glance up at Andrew, Neil swallows him whole. Andrew buries a steadying hand in Neil’s hair, and Neil proceeds to take Andrew apart with his lips and tongue. 

Andrew makes a soft noise as he climaxes, and then he immediately drags Neil up for a desperate kiss as he does up his pants. “Is Dennis home?” he asks when he pulls away for breath. Neil nods affirmation. “Let’s go for a drive then.”

“My car or yours?”

“I’ve wasted enough gas on this trip.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a gift for [thepackwantsthed](http://thepackwantsthed.tumblr.com/)
> 
> based off [this post](http://thepackwantsthed.tumblr.com/post/141276940910/so-i-love-fics-that-do-baltimore-from-andrews)
> 
> "“So I love fics that do Baltimore from Andrew’s perspective as much as the next person….but where are my fics about Aaron giving Andrew the choice between him and Neil????”"

Aaron is leaning against the counter in the kitchenette with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face when Andrew returns from his morning class. Andrew slides a glance at Aaron and frowns. He dumps his bag by his desk and then returns to the kitchen, digging the chocolate milk out of the fridge and filling up a small glass.

The silence only lasts until the milk is gone.

“You’re going to break your promise to me,” Aaron says, and his voice is so confident that Andrew wonders if Aaron is drunk. Aaron should no better than to demand such things with a sober mind.

Andrew turns a quick, sharp, cold smile on his brother. “Am I now? Why is that?”

“Because I want to be with Katelyn more than I want to be with you.”

Andrew’s smile vanishes. He stares Aaron down with a flat gaze that Aaron almost succeeds in returning. They are identical in so many ways, but Aaron doesn’t have the horrors of Andrew’s past to back up his icy glare. Aaron doesn’t know how to shut out his emotions.

“Why do you think I care? I made a promise to you, and I’m not going to break it. We’ve been over this before, quite recently, actually. Is your memory so poor?”

Aaron wisely doesn’t take the bait. Andrew isn’t surprised; Aaron is too focused on something that he wants to resort to being petty.

“I don’t think you care,” Aaron says. Then he smiles, a smirk of a war won before the first battle has begun. “But if I can’t have Katelyn, then you can’t have Neil.”

Not expecting a bold move like that from Aaron, Andrew freezes, back and shoulders stiffening with a rage he doesn’t understand and doesn’t want to.

But Aaron isn’t waiting for him. “Neil is just as much of a violation of our deal as Katelyn is. Kevin was pushing it, but I let him pass because you weren’t fucking him.” Andrew bares his teeth in a snarled warning, but Aaron isn’t finished yet. “Either you break your deal with me, or you break things off with Neil.”

Andrew curls his shaking fingers into fists. The last deal he let go of was Neil’s, and that had backfired on him in the worst of ways. He isn’t ready or willing to do that again. 

Across from Andrew, Aaron’s eyes flash in triumph. Andrew wants to punch him, but he realizes that his anger comes from knowing that Aaron has won. Aaron isn’t a murder magnet like Neil. Neil needs Andrew more. 

Andrew needs Neil more than he needs Aaron.

“If she breaks your heart, I don’t want to hear a single word about it. I don’t want anything to do with her, and I don’t want her near me. She’s not part of my world, and she’s definitely not my family.”

“You have to tell her,” Aaron says. “She won’t believe it from me.”

Andrew shoves past Aaron instead of answering and slams the door behind him on the way out. He almost goes straight to the library, where he knows Katelyn is studying with friends, but he changes his mind at the last minute and heads to Neil’s class, which will be over soon. Andrew doesn’t trust himself not to murder Katelyn, and Neil is the only one that Andrew would allow to stop him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "Ooh I have a prompt: Neil high on painkillers for some reason and he just won't shut up about how amazing Andrew is to the utter delight of the foxes and Andrews like ffs but secretly likes it???"

Andrew thinks he could get drunk on Neil’s laugh. 

The whole team is situated in the small hospital room, the new Foxes hanging in the back, knowing that the older Foxes want to be close to their injured friend. Neil has been awake for almost five minutes now, and he is so fucking high it’s laughable.

Nicky is half hidden behind Kevin, filming Neil on his phone. Andrew would have made Nicky stop, but he doesn’t want to leave his spot where he’s perched on the edge of Neil’s bed. And now Neil is laughing, and Andrew is staring at Neil. High on drugs, Neil is free from his worries and pains. He looks younger, happier. His eyes are unfocused but bright.

“Andrew!” Neil says, turning his gaze and beaming at Andrew. “When did you get here?”

One of the Foxes laughs, but Andrew isn’t paying much attention to them. “I’ve been here the whole time, idiot.” Andrew doesn’t know what affectionate is and he isn’t sure he wants it, but he likes the soft way that Neil is looking at him.

“The whole time? That’s amazing. You’re amazing. You’re really really… so amazing,” Neil says.

“And you are higher than Matt was after Columbia.”

Dan shifts in his peripheral. “Andrew, I swear to god…”

Neil turns to Dan, a little slow on the uptake, and shakes his head. “No, don’t be mad at Andrew, he’s wonderful he doesn’t deserve it.”

Andrew frowns and looks at Neil, who turns to look back at Andrew. Neil smiles, worries forgotten, and reaches up to tug on Andrew’s bangs. Andrew lets him. 

“You have amazing hair,” Neil says, almost in awe. Aaron groans, and from behind Kevin, Nicky chuckles. “Like… most of it’s this really amazing like… blond.” At this Matt laughs, but neither Neil nor Andrew pay attention to. Neil pulls Andrew down by his bangs and Andrew follows the motion without complaint, bending at his waist so that his head is closer to Neil.

Allison makes a superior noise, and Andrew assumes that he just won her a bet, but he isn’t about to pull away and make Neil upset when Neil’s not sober.

“And also,” Neil says, apparently still not finished, “you have these really great highlights that are like… almost white, and it catches the sun more and it just looks really amazing.”

At this point, Aaron disappears into the back of the room and is promptly replaced by one of the freshmen.

Neil’s fingers are still in Andrew’s hair, and it’s taking everything Andrew has not to shiver with the way those long graceful fingers are brushing against his scalp. He tips his head up just enough to make eye contact with Neil, and he thinks the small gasp that leaves Neil’s lips is enough to make up for losing Neil’s fingers in his hair.

Neil gently holds Andrew’s face in his hands and pulls him closer, tilting his head this way and that. “I love the way your eyes look in the sun. Especially when you wear black.”

“He always wears black,” Renee supplies.

Neil beams at her. “Then I get to love looking at his eyes always.”

Andrew doesn’t even know what to do with Neil at this point. He wants to sew Neil’s lips shut to make him stop talking, but at the same time he’s enjoying what Neil is saying.

“You two aren’t going to kiss, are you?” Jack calls from the back.

Andrew stiffens and curls his lip, but Neil tightens his hold on Andrew’s face and slowly shakes his head. Even as high as he is, Neil is still watching out for Andrew.

Nicky starts a slow whispered chant, “Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, _kisskisskisskiss_.”

There’s probably a bet riding on this too.

Neil turns surprisingly quickly to Nicky and levels a glare at him. “No,” he says, and it’s as firm and serious as he’s been since he woke up. Neil sways a little, unsteady, and Andrew guides him so that his shoulders are back against the bed and Neil is facing front once more, unfocused eyes finding Andrew again. Still looking at Andrew, Neil says to Nicky, “I can’t give consent if I’m…” he waves his hand for a moment, eyes narrowing as he searches for the word, “high.”

Andrew nods at Neil, and Neil beams, apparently glad for Andrew’s approval. “So you’re not so stupid after all,” Andrew comments. Neil laughs again, and this time Andrew is positive that he could get drunk from that sound alone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "Neil and Andrew at Aaron's trial - if you're still taking prompts. Thanks!"

Neil hates trials; they are public and quiet and straightforward. It is a place of no emotions and just solid facts. But is it even possible to separate one from the other?

Aaron is sitting next to his lawyer, and from where Neil sits - though he can only see the back of Aaron’s head - Aaron looks composed, cool, ready to face down anyone who looks at him and sees a murderer. 

Sitting next to Neil, Andrew is clenching and unclenching his fists, over and over in a way that Neil knows is keeping Andrew steadied. Neil follows Andrew’s gaze and finds him looking at a weeping woman and what appears to be her husband.

“Is that -?”

“Yes.” Andrew’s voice is tight and low.

Neil feels a surge of anger towards the woman. How dare she show up and defend her son against what was done to Andrew. For her, Neil would let Nathaniel consume him again, just so that she could feel as much pain as Andrew had to suffer through.

“Don’t,” Andrew says, grabbing Neil’s chin and pulling him around so that they were facing each other. “Just ignore her. She’s not important.”

Neil watched emotions rise in Andrew’s eyes and just as quickly get stuffed back down. Neil was starting to learn what others refused to see. It wasn’t that Andrew didn’t have emotions, it was just that Andrew didn’t let himself react to them.

“What are you going to say when you have to go up there?” Neil asks, fully aware of the fact that Andrew’s hand is still on his chin. They are both going to have to speak today, but only Andrew is going to have to relive something painful.

As if thinking it had reminded Andrew about it, Andrew pushes Neil away. “What are _you_  going to say?”

Deflection is something Andrew-typical, and something that Neil can deal with. At least Andrew is looking at Neil now and not at Cass Spear. “The truth.”

Andrew stares at Neil and raises his eyebrows, and Neil realizes that he not only answered Andrew’s question, but also his own.

“Do you think Aaron’s going to get out of this?” Neil asks, more to keep Andrew’s attention on him than to feed his curiosity.

Pursing his lips, Andrew faces front, his eyes following the bailiff as the man walks to the front of the room. “There can be only one outcome,” Andrew says, and Neil can’t decide if he’s being cryptic or if he’s already decided which way this trial is going to go.

The bailiff clears his throat. “All rise.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gift for [maradyeries](http://maradyeries.tumblr.com/)
> 
> based off [this post](http://maradyeries.tumblr.com/post/141573548474/can-someone-please-write-a-snowball-fight)
> 
> "can someone please write a snowball fight Andrew/Neil one shot pretty pretty please???"

Minneapolis is filled with people that are too nice, people that think forty degrees is warm enough for short sleeves. Enjoy it while you can, they said. There’ll be three feet of snow on the ground tomorrow.

Neil watched Andrew scoff at that before they walked on, heading to a candy shop a little farther down the street. Both of them were bundled up in jackets and scarves, Andrew’s face buried so far into his scarf that his glasses were fogging up.

Today things are different. It snowed. A lot. They won last night’s game so the coach let the team have today to themselves. Andrew hadn’t hesitated to drag Neil out of the hotel as fast as possible.

They’re halfway to Gold Metal Park when Andrew says, “I’ve never seen so much snow before.” 

Neil opens his mouth in disbelief and then shuts it again. Of course Andrew wouldn’t have. He’d lived in California and then South Carolina, and the small amount of traveling they’d done for Palmetto wasn’t enough to give Andrew any insight to how much snow the skies could dump in only a night. Neil knows. Neil has been many places where snow accumulates by the foot and refuses to melt or get out of the way.

“I got buried in a snowbank once by my mother. She was hiding me. I almost got frost bitten fingers,” Neil says, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets at the memory of the cold.

The park is empty when they get there, and Andrew walks up to the edge of the Mississippi River and stares into the brown water. Lazy snowflakes begin to fall, and Neil leans against Andrew, trying to figure out what he’s thinking. But he gets restless soon and nudges Andrew with his elbow. 

“Ever had a snowball fight?” he asks, and it’s such a ridiculous question that Andrew breaks off his distant gaze and snaps his attention to Neil.

Andrew doesn’t answer and he doesn’t need to. Neil already knows the answer. 

“Come on,” Neil says, turning around. “I want to do some more sightseeing.” Neil is probably five steps away when something cold slams against the back of his head. Neil grins, and in a single motion he twists and scoops up snow and throws the loose ball at Andrew.

Both of them take off for the trees, each dropping back against a trunk and building up their pile of snowballs. Neil gathers his in his arms and sneaks around his trunk. When he sees Andrew, he makes a run for him.

Andrew runs at Neil, too.

One after another, they lob snowballs at each other, and when they’re down to their last one, they both shove the snow down the other’s neck. 

Andrew grabs Neil by the front of his jacket and twists them, pushing Neil down into the snow.

Their breaths leave them in hot clouds of steam. Neil is soaked and cold to the bone, and Andrew doesn’t seem much better off. Andrew’s glasses are wet. Neil shivers, but it’s hard to feel cold with Andrew still on top of him, straddling his waist, pale hands looking perfectly white against the black of Neil’s jacket.

“That was fun,” Neil says, smiling up at Andrew, whose only reply is to lean down and kiss away the cold on Neil’s lips. 

Neil can feel Andrew’s smile against his cheek when they break for air.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "The foxes playing 'never have I ever'???"

“Never have I ever…” Dan narrows her eyes and looks around the circle of Foxes. “Never have I ever died my hair.”

“That’s a cheap shot,” Renee says with a smile as she took a sip of her nonalcoholic drink. 

“Cheating, Dan,” Neil says and elbows her playfully in the side. Dan laughs gleefully and wraps her arm around Neil’s shoulders. Neil leans into her for a brief moment, enjoying his last few days with the girls as much as he can.

They’re all halfway to drunk already, which is surprising to none of them. Every time Neil takes a turn most of the other Foxes end up taking a drink. 

Matt starts next. “Never have I ever puked on an amusement park ride.” Everyone waits, looking around the circle. When no one drinks, Matt curses. “I hate all of you.” And he takes a drink.

“Never have I ever gotten into a car accident,” says Allison. 

“Driving?” Andrew clarifies. No one thought Andrew would play, but Neil sat down in the circle and asked Andrew if he would like to join in, and Andrew wordlessly claimed his spot beside Neil.

“At all,” Allison says.

Andrew, Matt, and Renee drink.

“Never have I ever taken body shots,” Renee says. Nicky, Allison, and Dan drink.

“Who did you take body shots off of?” Matt asks, staring at Dan.

“Allison,” Dan replies.

“Dan,” Allison agrees, and the two girls meet eyes and laugh, and Neil grins at the look on Matt’s face.

Nicky clears his throat. “Never have I ever gone bungee jumping.” Allison drinks.

“Never have I ever held an infant,” Aaron says.

Everyone except Andrew, Dan, and Matt drink.

“Really?” Neil quietly asks Andrew.

Andrew shrugs. “Some of them had other kids,” was his only reply, but that was all Neil needed.

Kevin makes a face. He’s made it clear already that he doesn’t like this game, but he’s participating anyway. “Never have I ever missed a Trojan’s game.” Unsurprisingly all of Kevin’s “never haves” are about Exy.

Everyone drinks.

Now it’s Andrew’s turn. Neil has been writing down in his phone everything that Andrew has never done.

“Never have I ever,” Andrew says, “been on a boat.”

Allison, Dan, Nicky, and Matt drink. They are the drunkest and almost out of alcohol in their cups. 

Neil doesn’t even have to think about his. There’s a lot that he hasn’t done, but he doesn’t feel sorry for himself. He was surviving, not living. Now he has a chance to do things and enjoy himself. “Never have I ever had a pet.”

Everyone drinks.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for [spacepearl](http://spacepearl.tumblr.com/)
> 
> "maybe something about neil & andrew and shenanigans with the cats? :D"

“Neil, why do the cats have bowties around their necks?” Andrew asks, walking out into the living room in search of Neil, then turning to the kitchen when Neil starts talking.

“Because it makes them fashionable,” Neil says, looking over his shoulder with a smile.

Andrew narrows his eyes. Neil is cooking. Neil never cooks.

Stepping closer, Andrew leans against the counter and watches Neil flipping pancakes and making eggs and bacon. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, well, it’s -”

A loud meow cuts Neil off, and Andrew turns to see Cat One saunter into the kitchen. Andrew knows their names, but he refuses to call them stupid things. Cat One walks up and brushes itself against Andrew’s legs, then moves over to Neil and meows up at him. 

“Hush,” Neil says kindly. “You can eat when we do, which will be pretty soon. Go get Sir Fat Cat and bring him in here.”

Cat One gives another soulful meow before trotting out of the kitchen.

Andrew looks up at Neil. “You know they can’t actually understand you, right?”

Neil shrugs and starts dishing up food onto plates. “You can get the coffee if you want.” Neil gestures at the coffee pot as he takes the plates to the table. Andrew is finishing putting sugar and milk into his coffee when both cats show up. Cat Two goes immediately over to Neil and brushes against he leg. Andrew can hear him purring. Neil catches Andrew’s eye and smirks; Andrew just rolls his eyes and takes the coffee to the table.

They eat in silence, Neil and Andrew and the cats, and when they’re done Andrew helps Neil clean up and then drags Neil into the living room. “You never answered me,” Andrew says once they’re sitting on the couch.

Neil bites his lip and flicks his eyes down. Andrew recognizes the expression as the one Neil uses when he’s not sure how his actions will be received. “Happy anniversary?”

Andrew blinks. “Of what?”

“Calling this place home.”

“You’re so fucking sentimental,” Andrew says, but he pulls Neil into a kiss before Neil can respond. Andrew pushes Neil down, and they adjust without breaking the kiss. 

Neil hums and wraps his arms around Andrew’s neck. Andrew rumbles a groan and holds himself over Neil, bodies touching but without any of Andrew’s weight settled onto Neil. Andrew breaks for air but doesn’t move away, instead worrying Neil’s bottom lip with his tongue and teeth. 

“You’re not a runaway anymore,” Andrew whispers as he moves to kiss a line down Neil’s neck.

Neil hears what Andrew is really saying - he always does - and he pulls Andrew back up into another kiss.

From the floor comes a soft meow, and Andrew turns in time to watch Cat Two jump onto Andrew’s back. Cat Two wastes no time curling up and purring against the small of Andrew’s back.

Neil laughs, and Andrew glares at him. “Shut up,” Andrew says, putting more of his weight on Neil and kissing him hard enough to wipe the smirk off Neil’s face.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for [minyarrds](http://minyarrds.tumblr.com/)
> 
> "Okay so I was listening to war of hearts by Ruelle, like really listening to it and all I could think of was Andreil. Think you could do anything with that?"
> 
> base off [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=49ZhrgtR-S4)

Andrew lays awake staring at the bottom of Aaron’s bunk. It’s well after two in the morning, and Andrew is crashing after not having the medication in his system for so long, but he can’t stop thinking. Thinking about Neil practicing with Kevin, thinking about Neil and all of Neil’s problems, thinking about a stupid boy willing to die just to play a stupid game, just to belong somewhere for once in his life.

Andrew knows that Neil is still keeping things from him, despite the truths given. Neil has too many layers, too many complicated things about him that are going to get him killed. Andrew is supposed to keep Neil safe, but how? 

_Shut up, shut up, you don’t care about him. It’s just the drugs._

———–

Andrew stands on the roof and stares at Neil, Neil who went to Evermore trying to help Andrew, Neil whose body looks like a punching bag and a knife sharpener, Neil who is sporting a number four on his cheek, Neil who looks like he would make the same decision over and over again.

“You are a pipe dream,” Andrew says, because he can never have this runaway boy. Andrew can’t lose anyone else and Neil is far too easy to lose. Andrew doesn’t want to want him. 

But when he looks at Neil his stomach drops and his nerves fire, the same way they do when he stands on the edge of a four story building.

———–

Neil says, “You were amazing,” and Andrew knows that something bad is going to happen, something is wrong, so very wrong. He’s losing sight of Neil as they’re leaving and Andrew tries to shove his way to the front.

He needs to get to Neil because enough bad things have happened to Neil and despite the rescinded promise, Andrew needs to protect Neil.

He’s too late. All that’s left of Neil is a racquet and a duffel bag.

———–

Andrew is kneeling in front of Neil and there is no truth and yet nothing but the truth in Neil’s eyes. Andrew doesn’t care about the truth right now. If this is why Neil was lying, if all of those half truths were to keep the Foxes away from the harm that has come to Neil in a single night, then Andrew can forgive it.

“I’m sorry,” Neil says. 

Andrew is ready to punch him, to strangle him. He wants to tell Neil to stop apologizing when he almost died. He wants to tell Neil that it’s not his fault, that it’s Andrew’s fault, but it only comes out as, “Say it again and I will kill you.”

———–

Neil needs to shower after too long in the hospital, too many wounds, too much distance between the last time Andrew touched him and now. Andrew helps, and he’s not gentle because he’s angry at himself, angry that he cares, but he’s careful around Neil’s wounds because Andrew’s job is to stop Neil from getting hurt.

It’s their first kiss and their first touch in what feels like forever, and Andrew doesn’t want to feel that achey flutter in his heart, doesn’t want to feel that falling sensation in his gut. But Neil is tugging on Andrew’s hair and promising to catch Andrew when he falls.

Andrew jumps.

———–

Andrew braces himself against the wall, leaning into Neil, almost touching. Neil is his. Neil doesn’t have to run anymore. Andrew isn’t going to lose him.

 _Neil isn’t going anywhere_.

No, Andrew doesn’t want to give this part of himself away, he hates the thought of opening himself up and being vulnerable again. But Neil is warm and welcoming and kissing him feels like coming home, and Andrew just can’t help but love Neil a little more with each smart mouth comment and each brush of fingers through his hair.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "i heard that u were talkin smut and i would like to propose covert locker makeouts ft the little surprised inhale thru his nose neil does when andrew suddenly slips a hand down the front of his pants, remixed by the little surprised inhale andrew does when neil drops down to bite his neck bc it's just tOO MUCH goodbye i am gone"

This is the one time Andrew wishes that Neil would have broken a promise.

Or at least, to have never made the promise in the first place.

The great, incorrigible, Kevin “I eat spinach and twelve vitamins for breakfast” Day is sick. Throwing-up-sick. Spent-all-day-in-the-bathroom-sick. Andrew was really looking forward to not going to night practice. But fucking Neil “I’m addicted to Exy” Josten decided to promise Kevin that he would show up tonight.

So Andrew is here too, nonchalantly defending the goal as Neil practices his precision. Andrew watches, because Neil in motion is really something unique to look at. Neil in motion is water - he’s a fluid stream of energy that quickly turns into dangerous rapids as he charges the goal. This is Neil as raw as Neil can be. There are no lies in these moments.

“Last one!” Neil calls, and he’s at the half court line, which is stupid because in a game Neil is never going to have a clear shot from the half court.

Andrew gets himself into a ready stance anyway, watching Neil swing, watching the ball coming at him. Andrew hits it hard, and Neil is already running after it. Andrew is unsurprised and unimpressed when Neil catches it.

Wordlessly, Andrew leaves the court for the locker room. After stripping out of practice clothes, he grabs his towel and checks his phone. Almost two in the morning already. “ _Why?_ ” Andrew mutters to himself as he goes to shower off. When he steps out, he can hear Neil in the shower stall across from him. Comforted that Neil is close by, Andrew leaves the showers to dressed. He’s just tying his shoes when Neil pads out of the shower.

Andrew looks up, eyes narrowing at the makeshift pajamas that Neil is wearing - a stolen shirt of Andrew’s, which is a bit baggy on him, and a pair of too-loose sweatpants. Of course, Neil had been wearing that when they left the dorms, but it seems more offensive now, for Neil to be wearing something so comfortable after an hour and a half of practice that they didn’t _have_  to go to.

“I hate you,” Andrew says, getting to his feet and walking over to Neil, crowding him back against the lockers.

“What did I do this time?” Neil asks, eyebrow raising and a glimmer of humor behind his eyes.

Instead of answering, Andrew wraps his hand around the back of Neil’s neck and squeezes. Andrew takes in the droop of Neil’s eyelids, the way his shoulders relax, the way his lips part. Andrew brushes his thumb over Neil’s hairline and watches him shiver.

Neil is whispering yes before Andrew can ask, and though Andrew narrows his eyes, he leans in and presses their lips together. Neil makes this really soft quiet sleepy noise and parts his lips to nibble on Andrew’s lower lip. Andrew cages Neil in with his forearms pressed against the wall, and Neil still moves his body closer.

Andrew tugs on Neil’s hair and kisses him deeper, pulling soft sounds from Neil that set Andrew’s blood on fire. The short, quick inhale from Neil as Andrew slips his hand into the too-loose sweatpants drives Andrew to bite Neil’s lip. Neil groans, pushes his hips into Andrew’s hand. 

“Fucking needy,” Andrew mutters as he wraps a couple fingers around Neil. 

Neil’s breath falls from his lips hard and shuddering, and Andrew presses closer when Neil’s weak knees have him slipping down the wall.

“Stay on your feet,” Andrew growls. In response, Neil bites Andrew’s neck, right over a tendon, and it’s really just _pressure_  instead of an actual bite, but Andrew’s breath shutters on a surprised inhale, and he’s glad that he’s already braced against the wall because _fuck_.

“You stay on your feet,” Neil says, lips brushing Andrew’s neck, fingers coming up to grip Andrew’s hair. 

Andrew can’t stop his shudder, can’t stop his head dropping down to Neil’s shoulder. He tugs Neil’s sweatpants and briefs out of the way and then wraps his whole hand around Neil, watching his hand moving over the shaft, watching a drop of pre-come build at the tip. “Fuck, Neil,” he whispers.

Fingertips move slowly over Andrew’s scalp, and Neil presses his lips to the junction of Andrew’s neck and shoulder. The noises Neil is making are so close to Andrew’s ear, are vibrating against his skin. Neil laves his tongue over Andrew’s neck and a shiver shoots down Andrew’s spine.

“Andrew,” Neil whispers, teeth grazing Andrew’s neck. “God, Andrew, so good. Feels so good.” Neil’s voice fails as Andrew circles his thumb over the glans, smearing pre-come before going back to stroking, faster and harder than before. 

Neil’s hips jerk and Andrew grins where Neil can’t see him. Neil has returned to biting and nipping over Andrew’s neck, using his fingernails against his scalp now; it’s not painful, just a different sensation that has Andrew’s hair standing on end.

“Can I mark you?” Neil asks, because it’s usually Neil that wears the bruises from Andrew. 

Something hot settles in Andrew’s stomach, and his hand tightens and twists on the upstroke, and he watches Neil’s knees shake and he feels Neil pulse in his hand. Neil’s body jerks against Andrew’s and there’s a heavy moan falling from Neil’s lips as his hand makes a fist in Andrew’s damp hair. “Yes,” Andrew growls.

Neil’s lips move around for a while, tongue prodding as if searching out the perfect spot, and then his mouth opens further and Andrew can feel Neil’s hot breath on his neck right before Neil’s teeth clamp down and he starts sucking a bruise into Andrew’s pale skin.

The moan slipping out of Andrew’s throat is an automatic response that he couldn’t have stopped if he had wanted to. His free hand wraps around Neil’s neck again, and his grip is probably tight enough to bruise, but he needs to hold on, and Neil must know because he hums against Andrew’s neck, where his lips are still sealed and creating suction. 

Andrew focuses again on Neil, works him the way that always has Neil falling apart in no time at all, and Neil breaks the suction on Andrew’s neck and instead buries his face in Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew revels in the way Neil’s noises bounce off the locker room walls. 

“Neil,” Andrew whispers, voice rough and gravely. He’s not sure if Neil can hear him, but he continues anyway. “Neil, come for me.”

Seconds later, Neil’s muscles clench, and then his hips jerk, and Andrew moves his hand up to tighten his fingers just under the head as Neil comes.

It takes Neil longer this time to come down, to catch his breath, to have the strength to hold himself up against the wall. “Jesus,” Neil groans, head dropping back, eyes hardly open but looking at Andrew. 

And Andrew is definitely looking at Neil, who is sex-flushed, his lips parted and slightly damp, and his eyelids are low enough to have his eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Andrew doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the pretty sight Neil makes.

“Do you want me to…?” Neil moves his hand so that his fingertips are resting over Andrew’s waistband.

Andrew steps back and shakes his head. He looks down at the mess on the floor, and he honestly doesn’t care enough about it to clean it up. “Put your shoes on,” Andrew says, walking back to his locker to grab his coat. 

“Still hate me?” Neil asks, and Andrew can here the smirk in his voice.

“I always hate you,” Andrew says, closing his locker and crossing his arms as he waits for his stupid boyfriend to finish up.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for [Taylor](http://wymack.tumblr.com/)
> 
> "artist!neil au where neil is a regular at a coffee shop and he sees andrew being dragged there by nicky most days and he accidentally draws him every single time?? andrew /knows/ and nicky is jealous"

Neil’s in his usual spot against the wall when the blond is dragged in by a bouncy, flamboyant guy with swishy black hair and flawless too-dark-to-be-tan skin. That was the boy Neil should have been drawing, all soft lines and wide smiles, hair a mess and never in the same position for long, bright clothes or black clothes, depending on the day.

But that isn’t who Neil is drawing. Neil has never drawn that man.

He’s been drawing the short blond for well over a week now. Neil has too many sketches of him, too many pages filled with hard lines and broad shoulders and tight black shirts and ripped black jeans, and hands and arms and skin tight armbands and blond hair and pale skin and a very, very small splattering of pale freckles over cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.

Neil takes a sip of his coffee and then picks up his pencil and starts to draw. The blue-framed glasses are new, so Neil starts with those, framing bored eyes and then pulling back to eyebrows and nose and cheeks and lips and feathery bangs that hang midway down his forehead.

Neil doesn’t notice when the blond and his companion look at him, too focused on his drawing, and when Neil glances back up, their eyes slide away. Neil is too busy filling in small details to be notice when the two men walk up to him. 

It’s the blond that sits at the table, and Neil jerks back from his sketchbook, which he quickly closes, tucking his pencil behind his ear. He narrows his eyes and clutches the sketchbook in tight hands. “What do you want?” he asks, instantly defensive, waiting for some sort of threat or bad reaction.

But the blond just holds out his hand, palm up, staring at Neil and not at the sketchbook. Feeling guilty for drawing without consent, Neil slowly hands the sketchbook over, internally cringing when the blond flips it open. Silence takes over the table, save for the appreciative mumbling of the blond’s companion. 

After getting all the way through the pages, the blond flips back through and slides the sketchbook back to Neil, tapping on the page. “That’s my favorite,” he says.

Neil glances down to see a closeup drawing of fingertips gripping the very tip of a knife hilt, barely protruding from an armband. By the time Neil looks back up to say something, both men are gone.

Sighing, Neil closes the sketchbook, but as he does so, a small rectangle of paper slips out from between the pages. Written on it in smooth black ink is just a name - Andrew - and a phone number.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "kandreil prompt: they're all on different pro teams at this point. Andrew and Neil have an off week and are watching Kevin's game on the couch when Kevin is checked way too hard. and he doesn't get up"

Neil is content. It’s late Friday evening, just after eight thirty. Kevin’s game is on and his team is ahead by three. Neil’s head is pillowed on Andrew’s thigh, and Andrew is eating ice cream above him, his feet resting on the coffee table. Behind Neil’s bent knees, Sir is curled up and purring; King is draped across the back of the sofa near Andrew’s head. Winston, Kevin’s golden retriever mix, is lying on the floor, and Neil’s fingers are threaded through his off-white fur. Content... it’s a feeling Neil still isn’t completely accustomed to, but he’s become more familiar with it over the last few years. The longer he’s called this apartment home, the longer he’s been with Andrew and Kevin, the more contentment Neil has felt.

He hums softly when Andrew sets his empty ice cream aside and cards his fingers through Neil’s hair. It’s as relaxed as Neil has been in a while, curled up on the sofa wearing Kevin’s hoodie and Andrew’s sweatpants, watching his boyfriend score another goal against the Panthers. 

“Show off,” Andrew mutters, which makes Neil grin. The Panthers get the serve, but Kevin’s team, the Cardinals, steal the ball, and in the last few seconds of the first half, the other striker, Johnson, shoots, and the wall lights up red.

Neil rolls over as halftime takes over, far more interested in looking at Andrew than at watching whatever entertainment they have lined up. Andrew rushed home after his game last night, crawling into bed with Neil at four in the morning. Kevin had left at about four thirty, so Neil assumes that they had spent some time together before Kevin departed. Neil doesn’t play until Monday night, and already he isn’t looking forward to leaving. 

“Stop that,” Andrew says, flicking his gaze briefly down to Neil. Andrew’s sharp tone contradicts the gentle way he’s pushing his fingers through Neil’s hair. 

“I’m not doing anything,” Neil says, and at his pouty tone, Winston sits up with a whiny groan and licks at Neil’s hand.

Andrew glares at the dog. “You know that none of us can get out of our contracts yet. Kevin has to wait until the end of this season. I have to wait until the end of next season. And we’re only transferring to your team because you play and practice the closest to here.” Andrew makes it sound as if transferring to Neil’s team is a pain, as if that hasn’t been the plan the whole time.

Neil just smiles. “It’ll still be better. Being able to come home in the evenings with both of you instead of showing up to an empty apartment.” That’s what he hates the most - Neil gets to come home every night, but he’s alone with the animals until the weekends, when his boyfriends make their flights back home. Andrew plays for the Oklahoma Thunder, Kevin for the Arizona Cardinals. Neil plays for their home city of Denver, and he is very happily part of the Mustangs.

Andrew scoffs, “Don’t be pathetic,” but Neil knows better than to take it to heart. They call each other and FaceTime and Skype when they can, which is good and great, but it really isn’t what Neil wants.

They spend the rest of halftime in silence, Neil petting Wilson and convincing him to lay back down, Andrew alternating between watching Neil and watching the muted television. When Andrew flicks the sound back on, Neil rolls over and resumes watching. Kevin walks out first, raising his racquet at the roar from the crowd. Neil smiles, happy for Kevin, proud of him for getting himself this far.

The game resumes play, and Neil’s contentment holds strong. Until Kevin is checked too hard as he races towards the goal. Neil watches in horror as Kevin stumbles back a step and falls, his head colliding with the wall, helmet bouncing back, Kevin’s body crashing to the floor. Neil sits up, suddenly alert. Kevin isn’t moving. “He isn’t moving,” Neil says, staring in horror as the refs finally call it and get a medical team in there. 

Andrew is up off the sofa as soon as a stretcher is brought onto the court. Winston jumps up, claws scratching the floor as he hurries to catch up with Andrew. Neil is faster, bolting off the sofa and shoving his shoes on. He takes the keys from Andrew and says, “Book us a flight. I’ll drive.”

Turns out the soonest connection to Phoenix leaves at midnight, so Neil turns them around. “Where the fuck are you going?” Andrew snarls, reaching over to yank on the wheel.

Neil smacks his hand away. “We have three hours. Kevin is going to want a change of clothes, and so are we.” Andrew doesn’t often throw himself into his over-protective mode anymore, but when he does, Neil always tries his best to balance him out by being collected.

The flight leaves on time, and within two hours they’re out of the Phoenix airport and in a cab to the hospital where Andrew found out Kevin is being held. It’s shortly before two in the morning Phoenix-time when Andrew and Neil are herded to Kevin’s room.

“What’s wrong with him?” Neil asks, watching Andrew stalk up to Kevin’s bed and angrily jerk a chair over to sit down. Kevin is breathing, though slowly and shallowly, oxygen being fed to him through a tube tucked behind both ears. From here, Kevin looks fine - younger, because he’s asleep, but fine. 

“Whiplash,” the nurse says slowly. “And a head injury of some sort. He hasn’t woken up since we got him in, so we’re not sure what it is yet, only that it’s severe. We’re hoping it’s a concussion, but it might be a blood clot. We’ll just keep hoping for the best. If he isn’t awake by five, we’ll take him in for a brain scan.”

Neil nods and waits for the nurse to leave before he walks slowly over to Kevin’s bed and perches very carefully on the edge. Andrew is glaring, fists clenched, but Neil knows that anger comes from Andrew’s fear. Neil says nothing about it. All he wants is for Kevin to wake up and get well enough to come home.

At three, Andrew says, “You should sleep,” and Neil replies, “I can’t.” At four, Neil lays down and curls into Kevin’s side, resting his head on Kevin’s chest and listening to each pull of air into his lungs. At four thirty, Kevin wakes up with a groan and a whimper.

“Why is everything spinning?” he whispers, and then winces, and Neil sits up immediately and Andrew is on his feet and beside the bed in an instant.

“Because you crashed headfirst into a fucking wall,” Andrew snaps. 

Kevin’s green eyes flick to find Andrew, staring him down for a moment, and then he slides his gaze over to look at Neil. “You should be sleeping. You have a game on Monday,” he says, tugging on the sleeve of the red hoodie Neil stole from Kevin.

“Shut up,” Neil whispers, taking Kevin’s hand and threading their fingers together. “Shut up. You’re in a fucking hospital. You’ve been unconscious for... fuck, Kevin, for almost ten hours.”

Kevin glances at Andrew, and whatever he sees makes him smile. “Yeah, well, now you know how we feel every time you get your ass injured. Sucks, doesn’t it?”

Before Neil can respond, a nurse comes in and shoos them back a bit so that she can look at Kevin. Andrew bares his teeth at her, but Neil holds him back. It takes a few moments before the nurse turns around to face them. “Well?” Andrew snaps, his hand a tight fist in the collar of Neil’s hoodie.

The nurse looks only a little afraid of Andrew, which means that she’s either stupid or a very good actress. “It’s just a concussion. He’ll have headaches and maybe some confusion and vomiting for a couple days, but he should be ready to go home by Monday afternoon.”

“Can he get on a plane?”

“He’ll be fine if he gets a full night’s rest beforehand,” she says, nodding briskly.

Andrew returns the nod and then waves her off. “Goodbye,” he says, turning away from her to put his attention back on Kevin, who has been watching the ordeal with tired eyes. Once the nurse is gone, Neil lets Andrew go and pulls out his phone to call his coach.

Neil explains the situation, and when Kevin catches on, Andrew helpfully puts his hand over Kevin’s mouth and glares at him to shut up. Neil successfully gets out of playing the game, and he’s prepared for the wrath that Kevin throws at him when he hangs up. “Are you fucking crazy? Ichirou will kill you,” he hisses, glaring at Neil. “I am not worth that, I am not worth you missing a game.”

“Shut up,” Neil says again, voice firm this time as he plods back over to the bed and once more curls up against Kevin’s side. Kevin wraps his arm around Neil’s shoulders, and Neil rests his head on Kevin’s chest. “One game won’t kill me. And you are worth it. You’re worth everything.” Kevin’s hand stills on Neil’s side. Andrew assesses the situation before taking a seat on the edge of the bed so that he’s facing the door. And with Kevin acting as his personal furnace and body pillow, and Andrew retaking his role as guardian for the night, Neil falls asleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for [Taylor](http://wymack.tumblr.com/)
> 
> "kandreil post-game dicking (bc 2 out of 3 are exy junkies and feel that adrenaline)"

Neil loses his breath when Kevin shoves him up against the wall, swallowing his small gasp with a kiss. Neil groans, his hands coming up to dip under Kevin’s shirt, feeling muscles and heat and smooth, smooth skin. Hands grab Neil’s ass and push him up the wall, and Neil obediently wraps his legs around Kevin’s waist. Where Kevin is usually so soft with Neil, tonight he is desperate and on fire, mouth hungry, hands hard and pressing and needing.

“Stop that,” Andrew says, his voice low and heated, rumbling with want from where he’s leaning his shoulder against the wall to Neil’s right. “You’re not allowed to leave marks tonight.” 

Kevin pulls his mouth away from Neil’s neck, burying his face there instead and groaning. Andrew likes to deny Kevin things, especially when he’s as enthusiastic as he is tonight. Kevin groans and nips his way up Neil’s neck anyway, enough to leave red marks but nothing that will last until morning. Neil threads his fingers through Kevin’s hair and tugs as he licks his way past Kevin’s lips, easily bringing Kevin back up to his previous level of excitement.

“Shirts off,” Andrew says, his voice silky smooth. Kevin is more than eager to listen, pulling off his shirt first and then Neil’s and tossing them aside.

“Fuck,” Kevin whispers, pushing Neil up higher so that he can lick and kiss over his chest. His hands squeeze Neil’s thighs and ass, and Neil rocks into him, biting his lip and dropping his head back against the wall. This is bliss. 

“Kevin,” Neil whispers, and there’s so much want in his voice, so much need that he can hear it himself, even over Kevin’s hum and the hitch of Andrew’s breath.

Andrew pushes away from the wall. “Move to the sofa,” he says, and when Kevin pulls Neil away from the wall, Andrew sits himself on the armrest and points Kevin to the middle cushion. “Wait,” Andrew says before Kevin can sit, “take your jeans off first.”

Neil arches into Kevin when he’s pushed into the cushions, unhooking his legs and spreading them instead as Kevin slots their hips together for a moment, rocking down against Neil, and _fuck_  the friction and the pressure is so fucking perfect that maybe Neil’s grip is a little too hard in Kevin’s hair and maybe he lets out a quick, high noise that Kevin encourages by sucking on a nipple, teasing it with tongue and teeth. When Kevin’s hands slide down, Neil gladly lifts his hips and lets himself be shed of his jeans and boxer-briefs.

“Kevin, sit,” Andrew instructs before Kevin can push Neil down again, and Kevin pulls away with a groan and takes a seat on the sofa. “Pants off.” Neil pushes himself up on his elbows to watch Kevin get the rest of the way undressed, kicking his jeans away. “Neil,” Andrew says, and it’s more of a purr, a seduction, and it’s enough to have Neil parting his lips on a soft hitch of breath, “straddle Kevin’s thighs.”

Though his own thighs are shaking, Neil pushes himself up and does as he’s told, and Kevin immediately pulls him in for a kiss. Neil loses himself in the slide of Kevin’s tongue, the scrape of his teeth, the noise Kevin makes when Neil snags Kevin’s tongue and sucks on it.

A cool hand runs down Neil’s spine, and Neil pulls away from Kevin with a small sound and twists his head to look at Andrew, who is now standing behind him, just trailing fingers over Neil’s back. Andrew leans in for a kiss that’s all biting lips and tongues, and Kevin settles his hands on Neil’s hips and rocks up into him. The combination of motions leaves Neil breathless when Andrew pulls back.

“Neil,” Andrew whispers, and this time there’s just enough of a French accent for Neil to be ready for Andrew to switch languages. “I want to open you.” Neil groans, the explicit French suiting Andrew’s tongue better than German, better than English. “I want to finger you until you’re gasping for it, and I want you to sit there and entertain Kevin and let me hear your noises.” Andrew nips Neil’s earlobe and traces his tongue along the shell, humming when he feels Neil shiver beneath his hand. “Is that alright?”

Neil nods wildly, searching for Andrew’s lips again, but Andrew is kissing Neil’s shoulders and the back of his neck. Kevin finally seems to have waited long enough, and he pulls Neil’s attention back to him, swallowing him in a kiss as he teases a finger along Neil’s cock, and Neil is already shaking by the time Andrew slips a lubed finger inside of him.

Piece by piece, Neil falls apart as Andrew slowly works him open and whispers instructions to Kevin over Neil’s shoulder, and every now and then Andrew will tell Neil to do something, like stroke Kevin’s cock really slowly, or pull his hair and lean in close for an almost-kiss. And Neil moans and whines and shudders, and when Andrew circles Neil’s prostate, Neil begs for it.

Andrew pulls his fingers out and pushes them into Neil’s hair instead, turning his head for a kiss. Neil’s moans are licked away and swallowed by Andrew’s tongue, but he still kisses Andrew with everything he has, and he’s more than happy to see the fire in Andrew’s eyes when he pulls away.

“Kevin,” Andrew says, backing away from Neil and moving instead to sit sideways on the sofa, back leaning on the armrest, legs spread so that he can palm himself through his jeans. Kevin swears at the sight of Andrew like that, his hands tightening on Neil’s hips, enough that there will be bruises tomorrow. Not that Neil cares. Neil _wants_. They just won an important game and there’s still adrenaline burning through him. He _needs_. Andrew very easily switches back to French. “Let Neil ride you. Keep your hands away from his cock and his nipples. Don’t kiss him.”

Neil doesn’t wait for Kevin to comply; he quickly lifts himself up and shifts forward. Kevin rearranges so that he’s more reclined on the sofa, and when Kevin settles, Neil sinks down. This time Kevin is the loud one, dropping his head back and moaning, his hips pressing up because he’s impatient and needs more, but Andrew growls a warning and Kevin settles down, panting roughly, and lets Neil settle into his own pace.

As always, adjusting to having a cock inside of him takes a while, but Neil focuses on the way Kevin takes two of Neil’s fingers into his mouth, on the way Kevin’s tongue teases the pads of Neil’s fingers and drives him crazy. A shuddered breath falls from Neil’s lips when he’s fully seated, and he stays there for a while because he likes feeling full, likes it when Kevin or Andrew is buried all the way, cock twitching every now and then.

When Neil moves, he’s not gentle or slow or soft. They are not making love, not now, not when everyone is jacked up on adrenaline and still riding the high from their win. Tonight is a night for fucking, and if it was up to Neil, Kevin would be on top. But Neil likes hearing Andrew say filthy things in the French he picked up his junior year at Palmetto, likes Andrew telling him to fuck Kevin harder, slower, faster, to circle his hips instead of bouncing, to bite Kevin’s earlobe and tug. Kevin moans obscenely, his bright eyes fixed on Neil and only Neil, the way Andrew prefers when he’s in a no-touching mood.

Neil praises Kevin in French too while he’s riding him slowly. “God your cock feels so fucking good, Kevin.” Kevin damn near whimpers, his hands running up Neil’s thighs to his chest, and Andrew has to remind Kevin to not touch Neil’s nipples. Neil has figured out what Andrew’s doing, but judging by Kevin’s whine, Kevin hasn’t yet. “Ah, fuck!” Neil moans, picking up the pace at Kevin’s impatient thrust. “Fuck, Kevin, oh my god you feel so fucking good, so fucking good inside me _Jesus_.”

“Push him down, Kevin,” Andrew commands, and Kevin is moving before all of the words are out of Andrew’s mouth. Kevin flips them over and pushes Neil into the cushions so that Andrew’s spread legs are on either side of Neil’s head before lifting Neil’s calves to rest on his shoulders and fucking roughly into Neil.

 _Yes yes yes yes_. Neil cries out, one hand fisting in Kevin’s hair, the other reaching above his head to grip the hem of Andrew’s shirt. Andrew takes Neil’s hand and settles it instead over the bulge in Andrew’s jeans, and the lewd noise Neil makes spurs Kevin to push Neil’s legs aside and lean over him, burying his face in Neil’s neck. 

“Fuck,” Kevin pants, one hand supporting his weight above Neil, the other hooked behind Neil’s thigh. “Fuck, Neil, god you’re so fucking gorgeous. Neil you’re so -” he cuts off with a moan when Neil pulls his hair unforgivingly.

“Shut up and fuck me.”

Kevin is more than happy to comply. He begs Andrew to let him touch Neil, but Andrew keeps saying no, keeps saying no, and every time Neil whimpers because Kevin has finally found the perfect angle, and every thrust is driving Neil closer and closer to insanity, but all three of them know that Neil can’t climax from this alone. Andrew knows and is exploiting this. 

“Andrew,” Kevin grunts, his forehead pressed against Neil’s collarbone so that every noise Neil makes is right in his ear. “Andrew, _fuck_.” Neil can hear the desperation in Kevin’s voice, and he can feel Andrew twitch beneath his hand at the sound of it.

“Kevin,” Andrew says, and there’s a dangerous edge to his tone that makes Kevin shudder. “Come.” Kevin does almost immediately, only needing a few more thrusts before he buries himself in Neil, panting and moaning softly against Neil’s sweat-slick skin.

Andrew moves off of the sofa just then, and Neil watches him push Kevin into a kneeling position. Neil moans at the shift of Kevin’s cock inside of him and is glad when Kevin doesn’t pull out, though it’s evident that he’s already oversensitive by the way Kevin’s breath hitches and then levels out when he stills. Andrew kneels down beside the sofa, looking up at Neil. “You have two minutes of my mouth, and if you don’t come by then, you have to get yourself off. Understood?” Neil nods, his eyes wide, and watches Andrew lick his lips and then swallow him whole.

The noise Neil makes is somewhere between a moan and a gasp, and it comes out an octave higher than he’s used to. His hips buck up on instinct, and Andrew pins him down easy with an arm across the tops of his thighs. Neil loses any and all control at the practiced way Andrew takes Neil down and swirls his tongue, alternating suction, paying attention to the slit. Neil wants to bury his fingers in Andrew’s hair but doesn’t, grabbing the sofa cushion instead and digging his nails in as he very quickly spirals out of control.

Neil warns Andrew when he feels the heat building, and Andrew just takes him all the way down and holds him there, moving his tongue around enough to stimulate Neil and push him to the edge. Neil’s orgasm hits him in waves, his hips straining against the weight of Andrew’s arm holding him down. Kevin swears as Neil involuntarily clenches around him, and his fingers dig into where he’s holding onto Neil’s thighs. 

Andrew pulls off after swallowing and licks once up the underside of Neil’s cock, his eyes intently watching Neil squirm, before he pulls away. “What… about… you?” Neil asks through gulps of air, his eyes alight as he watches Andrew. Neil shivers when Kevin slips out of him, but his eyelids only flutter for a moment before he refocuses on Andrew.

“Taken care of,” Andrew says, and wipes his hand off on Neil’s chest. Despite himself, Neil grins and relaxes into the cushions. Andrew pushes to his feet and sweeps his eyes between Kevin and Neil. “Go shower. You’re both filthy,” he says, flicking his fingers at them and moving to the bedroom. 

Kevin helps Neil to his feet and kisses him softly before leading him into the bathroom. “Think we have time for another quickie before bed?” Kevin asks, his eyes alight with teasing.

Neil, exhausted and happy and warm, rolls his eyes and smacks Kevin’s arm before stepping into the shower and starting to clean himself off.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something based on a thought of [Taylor's](http://wymack.tumblr.com/)

“I hate you,” Andrew says, kicking away from the Maserati and taking a long drag of his cigarette. The night is dark on the horizon, but Andrew is shrouded in the amber glow from the light poles in the parking lot. The sharp shadows across Andrew’s face make his cheekbones look hollow and his eyes look like frozen amber instead of their usual polished gold.

Neil shakes his head in denial and watches Andrew stop moving, tilt his head as if deciding something, and then pivot back to start pacing. His hair is getting longer, brushing the tops of his ears and his eyebrows. Neil knows that there hasn’t been enough time to cut it, not with the stress cycling around them, depression and anxiety pulling at both of them in waves. “No, you don’t,” Neil says.

Andrew’s eyes flick towards Neil, assessing, but inevitably Andrew continues to pace. “More than anything,” Andrew promises, flicking ash at Neil as he walks past.

Making a face, Neil brushes the ash off the front of his Foxes hoodie. “I think, for you, ‘I hate you’ is interchangeable with ‘I hate the way you make me feel.’” Now that the words are out, Neil realizes that he’s been feeling this way for a long time. He’s confident that this time, he has Andrew figured out.

Andrew stops walking, and he drops the hand holding his cigarette to his side. Smoke curls up the back of Andrew’s hand and along the sheer black of his armband, before finally disappearing in the cool air of the night. Neil pushes his advantage and approaches, gate slow and loose, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly to the side.

“What I’m trying to figure out,” Neil breathes, carefully watching Andrew’s constricted pupils, the spattering of pale freckles over Andrew’s nose, “is whether you mean feeling _this_  in particular, or feeling anything at all.”

“There is no _this_ ,” Andrew instantly snaps, as if he had known exactly what Neil was going to suggest.

Neil smiles ruefully and backs away. “I know,” he says, and turns to walk back inside. He ducks his head, heart heavy with the knowledge that Andrew would have and could have gone on living just fine feeling nothing at all.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for [aroczerny](http://aroczerny.tumblr.com/)
> 
> "hello friend idk if you're still taking prompts but “You’re always number one” (something riko-related bc i hate life) &/or “Don’t be fucking rude” (andreil/any of the foxes) ?"

“What the fuck was that?” Riko snarls, shoving Kevin against a wall in the locker room.

Bewildered, Kevin blinks dumbly at Riko and tries to understand Riko’s rage. “What was what? You won.”

“You were holding yourself back, weren’t you? You have been all this time.” The accusation drips with venom and resentment.

“I thought you knew,” Kevin says. He held himself back at practices, during games, around the press. “You’re always number one. I’ve always been happy to be number two.”

Riko’s smile is terrifying. “Oh, Kevin. Any other time and I might have forgiven you. But tonight you were ordered to play your best, and you disobeyed.”

Kevin pales. “Riko…” There are other people in the room now - Jean and Tetsuji. “Riko, please -”

“No.” Riko’s word is final, and the other two men come forward and grab Kevin to hold him in place, but Kevin is so numb with shock that he can’t move anyway. “Put him on his knees.” Kevin goes down when he is pushed, and his eyes track Riko as the younger Moriyama grabs Kevin’s racquet and gives it a swing. 

Kevin doesn’t start panicking until Tetsuji presses Kevin’s hand flat against the bench in front of him, and Riko swings the racquet again. “No, no, Riko, _please_. I won’t be able to play again, please.”

“That’s the point. I can’t have anyone be better than me. Someone might find out, and then what would happen?”

Riko breaks Kevin’s hand with one sharp, hard blow, and then leaves Kevin screaming in the locker room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is actually pretty old idk why i didn't put it in sooner


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by [Kat](http://andrewminyardpng.tumblr.com/)
> 
> based on [this post](http://taktitty.tumblr.com/post/155877980253/what-if-kiss-cams-are-at-exy-games-then-one-time)

The only reason they’re here is because of Kevin.

Well, Neil supposes that’s not strictly true. They’re here because Kevin is in love with Jeremy Knox, whether he wants to admit it or not, for sure, but there are other reasons. For instance, they’re here because the freshmen Foxes can’t handle playing at a college level yet. They’re here because of Neil’s incompetence as a co-captain. They’re here because they didn’t make it to finals. And they’re also here because Andrew allowed it.

Here, of course, is the stadium in Carson City, Nevada, where the Trojans are facing off against the Dust Devils in their first finals game of the season. Wymack somehow managed to convince the school board that the trip would be a good lesson for the freshmen, or something like that, because their two-day trip has been completely covered by Palmetto. Maybe it’s a consolation prize for not making it to finals this year after tearing down the Ravens last year.

Andrew’s knee bumps against his own, and Neil looks up to find Andrew staring down at the court, playing at being interested. Which means that he’s just looking for an excuse to not look at Neil. Andrew is becoming predictable. “Stop thinking so hard,” Andrew says.

“You mean like you did on the plane?” Neil smiles and tips his head to the side.

Andrew turns his head just enough to cast a glare at Neil. “No one asked you.”

Neil shrugs. “Two can play, Andrew.”

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

But Neil just hums and lifts a shoulder. Obviously he isn’t, since Andrew has stuck around. It’s nice to know that Andrew still cares, especially on days like today, when Neil can’t help but beat himself up over the Foxes’ current standings.

“Does he always flirt like that?” Allison asks, leaning over to shout in his ear as the crowd erupts around them. The Trojans are now winning 3-2. 

Neil makes a face at Allison and shakes his head. “Only when he’s in a bad mood,” he says, smiling before the sentence is through. It’s not true, of course, and Allison laughs because she’s in on the joke, and Andrew pinches his wrist because he’s not deaf. And Neil smiles because… because there’s no pressure on his chest, there’s no weight on his shoulders, there’s no threat that he needs to be vigilant for hiding in this crowd. He can breathe, and he can have friends and a family. He can _live_.

“You’re going to be intolerable tonight,” Andrew says, and his eyes narrow when Kevin, along with the rest of the crowd, boos fiercely at a rough play on the field. “You _and_  Kevin.”

“Should’ve bought those handcuffs,” Neil says.

Down the row of seats that the Foxes are occupying, Matt wolf whistles, and some of the other Foxes start making similar noises and stomping their feet. At first, Neil is sure that they heard his comment, and he wonders if, maybe, he should be embarrassed about it, but then Allison touches his arm and points at the large screen above the court. 

On the screen is a really gross animated heart, and Allison and Neil are framed inside of it.

Neil’s first reaction is one of fear; seeing his face on a screen so large, when he’s not in his gear and fresh off the field, has his heart racing ahead like a spooked stallion. But then he narrows his eyes in confusion and looks between the screen and Allison. “I don’t…?”

“It’s a kiss cam,” Allison says, her gaze fixating on a point past Neil’s shoulder. “Uh, hm…”

“What?” Neil looks at the board again, and through it, he notices Andrew’s hand moving towards his upper arm. Neil turns to him before they touch. People in the stands make a series of noises, probably because Neil just turned his back on Allison, but Neil is more concerned with the man in front of him. “Andrew?”

“Yes or no?” Andrew’s hand is on the armrest between them, where it landed before ever making contact with Neil’s arm. 

“Yes,” Neil says, and no matter that he knows how much Andrew hadn’t _wanted_  to go public with this thing between them, he relaxes and then melts into the kiss. 

A hush falls over the crowd, and then a roar sweeps through them, crashing around them, banging against the bones in Neil’s body, shaking his ribs, but Neil just presses more into Andrew and drowns it out. It’s not a friendly kiss, not necessarily, but it’s a good one. It’s Andrew’s callused hand against Neil’s scars, it’s Neil’s fingers carding through and tugging on Andrew’s silky hair, it’s a push of tongue and a scrape of teeth, it’s Andrew’s long sigh that Neil feels against his cheek. More importantly, it’s Andrew’s determined look when he pulls away.

“Alright,” Neil says, in answer to that look. “We’ll face them together.” 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for [dysfunctional-college-roommates](http://dysfunctional-college-roommates.tumblr.com/)
> 
> "What if Andrew and Neil had a teammate named Nathan?"

Objectively, Neil knew that this was going to happen. Maybe not _this_ , but… Nathan is a common name. He knew he couldn’t avoid it for the rest of his life. It’s just that Neil thought he was better prepared to deal with it when it did, eventually, happen. For months after the Baltimore incident, Neil had been bombarded with his birth name and his father’s name. There had been a trial and endless interviews and more panic attacks and nightmares than Neil could count. He had thought that he would be numb to the name by now.

He was wrong

Andrew is at his head, holding him down by the back of his neck. Neil wants to run, but his legs are lead, they’re being held down - no, they’re not, are they?

“ _Andrew_ ,” he gasps, his fingernails claws curled into the floor of the court, hooked into the fabric of Andrew’s shorts. 

“Shut up,” Andrew says, pulling Neil closer by his jersey but keeping a grip on the back of Nathaniel’s neck. “Just shut up and breathe.”

Neil knows that he’s touching Andrew without consent, but he doesn’t stop to ask for it. He would if he could just think past the bloodstained walls of his father’s basement. “But -” 

“No, Neil, shut _up_.” The movement around them is cacophonous, banging in Neil’s ears, jolting from the court floor up through his knees. “You are not there. Your father is dead, remember? Shot twice through the chest. You were there, you saw him die.”

Neil shakes his head furiously. It doesn’t matter that he knows his father is dead. His presence here is real. 

“Is he okay?”

“ _Fuck off_ ,” Andrew growls at the unfamiliar voice. He pulls Neil closer, more into a sitting position, but keeps him tucked against Andrew’s body. Neil is happy for it, for being given permission to bury his face in Andrew’s shoulder, to lean all of his weight against his… against Andrew and know that he’ll be held up.

“Asshole,” that same voice mutters, but footsteps lead away from them. 

Neil stirs against Andrew, grabbing fistfuls of his jersey to hold on. “Is he…? Is Nath-” He can’t bring himself to finish his teammate’s name. Guilt is a heavy, disgusting taste at the back of his mouth. He should be beside his teammate, making sure that he’s okay, bringing order to the rest of the team. He’s co-captain. It’s his job. The only thing that makes him feel even a little better is the fact that only Andrew is with him, which means that everyone else is with the fallen backliner - with Nathan.

“He’ll live.” Andrew’s cool disinterest is soothing. “He’s not my problem.”

That’s easily translatable. “I’m f- okay. I’m okay,” Neil insists. He thinks he sounds sincere, but his body doesn’t seem to give a shit. He doesn’t even try to pull away from Andrew, and actually just holds on tighter. He isn’t really sure what happened, why today, why now. One moment he was waiting for his backliners to get him the ball, and in the next… Nathan was checked hard by his mark, and Andrea, fellow backliner and someone that Nathan hung out with a lot, yelled his name.

It wasn’t a difficult stretch for Neil’s mind to warp the concerned shout into one of agony, of warning. The game stopped when it was evident that Nathan was unconscious, and Neil dropped like a stone. 

“Kevin is going to cover for you for the rest of the game.” Andrew doesn’t leave room for argument. Neil doesn’t really feel like fighting him anyway.

“I think I can stand,” he says, and Andrew interprets that the way Neil wanted to. They get to their feet, Andrew keeping Neil steady as they cross the court and let themselves out. This newest breakdown is going to be all over the news tomorrow, headlining tabloids and the rest. He doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. 

Nathan is escorted off the court on a stretcher, and Neil watches him go. Relieved of her duty by the paramedics, Abby makes as if to approach Neil, but he waves her off at the same time Andrew stiffens beside him. “Kevin,” Neil says, “you’re on.” Giving up the rest of the game is worth it to feel Andrew relax, even if it’s just a bit.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "HOLY SHIT! All of those prompts look so fitting for andreil... but if I had to choose I'd say #4 and/or #17! Just fuck me up I'm ready"
> 
> (#4. “How long do we have?” & #17. “Don’t you dare look him in the eye.”)

Neil notices that Andrew’s family is slipping from his tight grip. Aaron and Andrew are no longer bound by a desperate promise. Nicky often gets along better with the upperclassmen and the new freshmen. Kevin doesn’t have Riko to be afraid of anymore, but he sticks around because only Neil can match his enthusiasm for Exy.

When the absence of everyone starts to bother Andrew, Neil suggests that they go for a drive.

Now it’s their thing. Sometimes they still get everyone together and go to Columbia, but more often than not, Neil and Andrew leave Palmetto early Saturday morning and just… drive. Usually they leave at seven in the morning, but sometimes, when Andrew has had a bad week, they leave closer to three, when the interstate is all but deserted and Andrew can push the Maserati to speeds that tempt death. 

Today is one of those days, when Andrew is abrasive and stiff, and Neil understands. He doesn’t need Andrew’s words or his touch, he just needs his presence and to know that Andrew wants him there. So they drive like the devil is chasing them and end up in some obscure small town in North Carolina. This is a place that he and his mother would have steered far clear of, a town where everyone knows everyone else’s business and rumors spread like wildfire.

Andrew pulls over at a gas station. Neil gets out, stretches, and heads inside, intent on getting them water bottles. He hedges for a moment in the candy aisle and then grabs a bag of brightly-colored candies before going to check out. The line is only a few people long, but the woman at the counter is old and counting out coins. Neil sighs and settles back for a long wait. Maybe he should buy Andrew two bags of candy to make up for taking so long.

A man comes into the store not long after the old lady leaves. Neil eyes him, weariness a familiar taste on his tongue. The man is shifty, his body moving in stuttering and jerking ways. Neil can see him sweating from three feet away. The high schooler working the register eyes the man as well. 

 _Don’t you dare look him in the eye_ , Neil thinks. His shoulders are tense, his stomach a knot of nerves. There’s something wrong with the man, something that looks easily volatile. 

The cashier meets the man’s eyes over the counter, and a hunting knife is out before Neil can brace himself. _Fuck_. He’s moving instantly, dropping the water bottles and the candy and running at the man. For someone who walks so unsteady, his hand is surprisingly level when he turns on Neil and readjusts his grip on the knife. 

This is not unfamiliar to Neil, fighting someone with a knife when he himself is unarmed, but it’s been too long since the last time it happened. He’s not lacking for speed, but he’s lacking on his judge of character. He underestimates the man, and it’s a huge mistake. Whether driven by drugs or mental illness, the man is apparently far more sure of his body than he appeared when he first entered the store. He’s also a lot stronger than Neil pegged him for. Neil gets a grip on the man’s wrist, trying to twist it back and get the knife out of the equation, when the man suddenly charges forward.

The knife sinks into Neil’s defenseless stomach like butter. The pain is white-hot and instant, and he folds over. His nails dig into the man’s wrist, desperate to not let the knife get ripped out now that it’s in to the hilt. The door opens with a tinkle of a bell, and the man decides to run for it. The knife jerks when the man tries to take it with him, but in the end he abandons it in favor of bolting. 

The world tilts, and Neil staggers backwards into the counter. The front of his shirt is already soaked, and the wet material clings uncomfortably to his skin. He slides to the floor and sits there with his legs out in front of him. He needs to stop breathing so fast, needs to slow his heart rate. He needs to tell Andrew.

“Call an ambulance!” someone yells. 

A body settles near Neil’s side, and he turns to see the cashier kneeling next to him. Neil licks his lips and smiles. “Hey can you… can you do me a favor?” She nods, eyes wide. Neil clears his throat. “That nice black car outside… there’s a short blond guy that it belongs to. Can you get him for me?” She’s gone when he finishes the question, and Neil is grateful that she responds so well to traumatic scenarios. 

Neil knows when Andrew enters the store because of all the startled shouts. “What the fuck did you do?” Andrew asks, crouching beside Neil and observing the damage. Breathing hurts. Neil opens his mouth to respond, but Andrew claps a hand over his mouth. “Don’t say anything. It was rhetorical.” When Neil just stares, Andrew takes his hand away and drops his gaze down. “Did someone call an ambulance?” 

“I just got off the phone with them,” a woman says. 

Neil turns to look at her, but Andrew grabs his chin. “Stop moving.” Neil doesn’t see what harm turning his head would do, seeing as just breathing is enough to keep upsetting the wound, but he doesn’t argue. He keeps his eyes on Andrew, absently noting the gradual blurring of his vision. “I should start keeping a leash on you. Every time I let you out of my sight, something like this happens.”

“Not _every_  time,” Neil says, but all that gets him is Andrew’s hand back on his mouth and narrowed hazel eyes. 

“What part of ‘don’t say anything’ do you not understand?” Neil rolls his eyes. Andrew relaxes. “How long do we have? Before the ambulance gets here?” The question is obviously not directed at Neil, so he drops his head back against the counter. His vision swims and shudders, so he closes his eyes. Blood trickles down his sides and drips steadily onto the linoleum.

“ _Neil_ ,” a hand closes tight in his bangs and jerks, and Neil gasps awake. Andrew stares at him hard. Neil watches the tight way Andrew’s throat works to swallow. 

“Didn’t mean to,” Neil whispers. 

Andrew releases Neil’s bangs and moves his hand to Neil’s face, but this time it’s not to cover his mouth. His callused palm settles lightly on Neil’s ruined left cheek, and Neil leans into the touch. They are so far away from their rushed three in the morning departure from Palmetto. “Stay awake.” Andrew’s stability through this mess is everything that Neil needs. “The closest ambulance is a town over. Should be here soon. Just stay awake.”

Neil hums, which is a poor idea. The knife shifts inside of him, and only Neil’s fingers around the blade steady it. He hates the feeling of blood on his hand, but he hates the thought of his blood on Andrew’s hands more. He doesn’t cry out in pain, just bites down on his cheek and pinches his eyes closed. Andrew’s thumb brushes his cheekbone, and Neil releases his breath slowly and opens his eyes. His world narrows down to Andrew, the shoots of green in his eyes, the fall of pale hair over his forehead, the tightness between his eyebrows, the warmth of his palm against Neil’s cheek.

“Stop that,” Andrew chides. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Those words again. The wound must be worse than he thought.

The ambulance shows up with screaming sirens and a rush of paramedics. Andrew’s tense body is defensive, not letting anyone near Neil until they slow the fuck down. No one takes the knife out. Everyone knows that it’s the only reason Neil isn’t dead yet.

The oxygen mask is annoying and blocks his view of Andrew, but he would have to release Andrew’s hand to take it off, and he’s not sure that would be worth it. An IV is introduced into the crook of Neil’s arm before the ambulance takes off, and then they’re moving. Neil’s shirt is cut off, and his heart stutters with that familiar fear of his scars being visible, but Andrew is there to quiet him, to lean in close to his head and tell him to calm down, to focus on something else. Neil isn’t running anymore, and the paramedics aren’t going to ask him any questions.

Every bump in the road, every stuttering breath, is an agony that Neil kills before it can escape his lips. He knows that Andrew knows it hurts. He’s not going to make it worse on Andrew by confirming it.

The drive takes longer than he thought it would, but maybe the pain is warping his sense of time. They arrive at the hospital in a whirlwind of shouts and people and movement, and Neil is ripped away from Andrew and wheeled down a long white hallway. He doesn’t make it to their destination; he blacks out to the rhythm of lights passing overhead.

Neil wakes up in just as much pain but with far fewer lights. He gasps and chokes and jerks on the bed as he fights to sit up. Strong hands grab his shoulders and push him back down. “N-no,” he groans, kicking out with his legs. A monitor to his left starts beeping frantically.

“Neil. _Neil!_ ” 

He knows that voice, knows the fingers that push through his hair and find his pulse in his neck. His body is screaming. “Hurts,” Neil whispers, blinking his eyes open to look at Andrew. The hands are gone immediately, and Neil whines at the loss. 

“Hush,” Andrew says, though not unkindly. The machine quiets down, falling silent seconds before a nurse rushes into the room and turns the ceiling lights on. She glances quickly between Neil and Andrew and steps hesitantly into the room. “Morphine would be great,” Andrew says, dry and mocking. When the nurse leaves, he sits down on the edge of the bed.

Neil holds out his hand. “May I?”

“Yes.”

Andrew’s thigh is warm where Neil rests his hand. If he focuses, he thinks he can feel Andrew’s pulse, but that’s probably just his own pulse rushing the blood through his head. The oxygen tubes under his nose are annoying. The other patient snoring in their bed on the other side of the partition is annoying. But Andrew’s hand, when he settles it on top of Neil’s, is strong and sure and steady.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "I'm feeling 62. (Please don't cry) really hard even though like 2 out of the 3 words are barely in Andrew or Neil's vocabulary"

Andrew’s sweatshirt is the only barrier between Neil’s skin and the biting December air. Where the metal of the balcony touches Neil’s bare thighs and feet, he freezes. Tears stick to his cheeks. The cold doesn’t register. Neil just feels the heat of a gasoline fire, smells flesh and hair and plastic burning. He can feel the resistance against his fingers when he rips his mother’s bones from the seat with blood acting as velcro.

The balcony door slides open and Andrew steps out. King slips past Andrew’s feet and trots over to Neil. The cat meows before stepping onto Neil’s thigh and head-butting his chest. Neil blinks, and more tears fall and freeze in place. Sir meows from the doorway and paces, but he won’t come outside. 

“Your cats are stupid,” Andrew says, sitting down crosslegged beside Neil. 

Neil doesn’t respond except to drag in a trembling breath. Andrew and the cats are peripheral to the last moments he has of his mother. Neil’s grief and exhaustion warp reality until the memory feels more real than the present moment. He’s not sitting on his balcony, remembering California, he’s on his knees on the side of the road, vomiting up the smell of ash and the taste of sea salt until his stomach is empty.

“My cats,” Neil says, disbelieving. There didn’t exist a world, a future, in which Neil could settle down enough to own cats. He’d never be able to live in a single place for so long.

Andrew shifts next to him, turning to face him. The silence between them lasts for miles before Andrew says, “Get on your feet.”

“Why.”

“Damn it, Neil.” Andrew moves in front of Neil, and King jumps down and moves a couple feet away. Sir meows again. “Can I touch you?”

“I don’t care.”

“I need you to.”

“Sure,” Neil says, looking past Andrew’s arm to the blinking lights of the city. He sees only the sun on the waves and feels it on his skin. He’s not warm, but he’s not cold anymore. 

Andrew’s hands are firm on his jaw, roughly dragging Neil’s attention from the skyline to Andrew’s face. “Look at me. Do you know where you are?” When Neil doesn’t respond, Andrew continues. “You’re in Denver. Your name is Neil Josten. You’re the number eighteen striker for the Colorado Mustangs professional Exy team. You were invited to play for US Court three months ago. Your mother has been dead for -”

“Shut up,” Neil whispers, fresh tears hot on his face until they freeze against Andrew’s fingers. “Shut up.”

Something tightens in Andrew’s expression and then Andrew lifts Neil to his feet and all but carries him inside. Once King is in, too, Andrew closes and locks the balcony door. 

Neil drops onto the sofa when Andrew deposits him there with a rough, “Stay there.” Neil has no intentions of moving any time soon. He can’t really feel his legs. Or his fingers, for that matter.

Andrew returns with two blankets and a pillow, drops the latter by the armrest opposite Neil, and begins the arduous process of wrapping Neil in one of the blankets. “Stop,” Neil says, voice cracking. Andrew stops immediately, slowly taking his hands away and staring down at Neil. “Just… stop.” 

He wonders if crying is so painful for normal people. 

Andrew sits down next to him on the sofa and Neil droops over against him. Years of revolving around each other has led to this, to finding comfort in touches and embraces and words that previously would have gone unsaid. This time, when Andrew moves to finish tucking Neil into the blanket, Neil doesn’t argue against it.

He doesn’t realize how cold his legs are until Sir jumps up lays his considerable mass across Neil’s knees. 

“I’m sorry,” Neil says when Andrew brings him a glass of water. 

Andrew stares blankly at Neil for a long moment, during which Neil forces most of the water down his throat. When Neil sets the glass aside, Andrew settles onto the sofa, on his side, and pulls Neil down next to him. They share the pillow, and Andrew pulls the second blanket over the both of them. The cats take up positions by their feet.

“Some wounds don’t heal,” Andrew says, and it takes Neil a lengthly moment to realize that Andrew is picking up their conversation.

“I wish this one would.”

“Well the next time you want to try healing a wound, don’t do it by giving yourself frostbite.” 

Neil smiles, and what he hopes to be the last of his tears run down his cheeks from the corners of his eyes.

“Please don’t start crying again.” Andrew’s tone is reproachful, but not judgmental. “You’re already making me cold; I don’t need you making me wet too.”

It’s exactly the kind of reaction that Neil needs to break him out of his past. He snorts, amused, and leans in for a gentle kiss. Andrew returns it, bringing up a hand and brushing Neil’s tears from his cheeks. It’s not a gentle motion, but it is for Andrew. 

“If I wake up again, you can feel free to hit me upside the head and knock me unconscious,” Neil offers, voice muffled against the fabric of Andrew’s shirt.

Andrew threads his fingers through Neil’s hair and tugs. “Just go the fuck to sleep.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "here's a prompt where instead of neil getting hurt in a game, it's andrew"

Neil isn’t on the court when it happens, so he sees every second. It’s not the first time a team got it in their heads that the way to win the game was to sacrifice a striker in order to take down Andrew. But it’s the first time they’ve decided to sacrifice two strikers and a defensive dealer.

Andrew gets the ball out of the goal and then braces for the impact of the striker. If it had ended there, Andrew would have been fine, brick house that he is. But the other striker, in a blatant foul, rams into Andrew as well, and then the fucking defensive dealer piles on as well. Whistles blow and the buzzer goes off, calling the game to a halt as red cards are thrown and the referees make their way onto the field.

Neil is on his feet and running without remembering to tell his body to move. Wymack and the referees try to stop him, but Neil ducks and shoves past them. The other players are already on their feet, but Andrew is still on his back, racquet laying a foot from his extended hand. 

With panic roiling inside of him, Neil drops to his knees next to Andrew and almost gets a fist to the face for his efforts. “Andrew!” Neil ducks back out of the way just in time. “It’s me. It’s Neil.”

“Neil.” Andrew’s voice sounds raw. Neil has woken up with Andrew’s nightmares enough times to recognize what’s going on. 

“Yeah, Andrew, it’s Neil.” He forces his panic down and focuses on Andrew. “It’s okay. It’s… we’re in the middle of a game. We’re on the court.” Andrew doesn’t say anything, just frowns up at the ceiling of the court. “Are you hurt?”

The referees choose that moment to run over after scolding the three opposing players. Neil flings out his arm, trying to ward them off. “No, stay back. Let me handle this.” The nearest referee ignores him, obviously concerned by the way Andrew isn’t moving. “No!” Neil moves in between Andrew and the referee, ready to push the asshole back to keep him away when Andrew is like this.

Maybe Neil’s exclamation did it, maybe it was something else, but Andrew is suddenly bolt upright and pulling Neil back against his chest. “Leave us alone,” he snarls, and the arm he bands across Neil is tight and possessive. Only the heavy way Andrew leans on Neil betrays his less than standard condition.

The referee takes a step back with his hands up placatingly. “Are you out?”

“No fucking shit,” Neil snaps. Andrew’s arm squeezes briefly as either a reprimand or a thank you, but he says nothing. Neil turns his head and softens his voice. “Let’s get off the court. I’m sure Abby wants to look at you.” What he really means is that he’s concerned that something is wrong, but he doesn’t want Andrew to see him worry. He doesn’t want Andrew to feel guilty about being injured.

It takes a bit of coaxing and a lot of upper body strength on Neil’s part, but eventually Andrew is on his feet. The audience screams it’s support as Neil takes Andrew’s weight and helps him limp off the court. Neil’s panic is gone, replaced by a bone-deep worry. Abby meets them at the court door, but she doesn’t move to touch Andrew after he gives her a sharp glare. 

“David,” Abby says. Neil pulls up short, waiting on the coach’s call.

“Get him out of here. Josten, get your ass on the court. We need you, especially now that Andrew’s out.”

Neil blinks at Wymack and then looks back at the court.

“Go,” Andrew says.

“Fuck you,” Neil shoots back. “I’m not leaving you.” 

Andrew says nothing further. Wymack curses but doesn’t fight it, so Abby leads both of them from the court and into the foyer. Neil eases Andrew onto one of the benches. He doesn’t know where Andrew’s injured, and he’s not about to make it worse. Neil moves to take a step back, but Andrew’s fingers are quick to snag Neil’s jersey and hold him in place. 

Neil settles in on the bench, watching Andrew while Andrew keeps his sharp gaze on Abby. She checks his eyes first, feels his head for any pain. When she needs his gear off, Neil helps Andrew shed the hard exoskeleton. 

It’s eventually declared that Andrew has some bruised ribs and a seriously sprained ankle, but he’s otherwise physically fine. Neil thanks Abby with a tone that tells her to go the fuck away now. She has the grace to not look offended as she disappears.

“You’re really turning into a monster now,” Andrew says. What he means is _I don’t want to talk about what happened on the court_.

Neil is fine with that. He gets to his feet, helping Andrew up and supporting his weight once more. He wants to help, but he doesn’t want to intrude. “Shower?”

“You offering?”

“Yeah.”

Andrew doesn’t answer until they reach the locker room. “Yes.”

Since the game is only a little over halfway finished, Neil has no problems stripping down in the open. Andrew doesn’t have a snide comment waiting, which is worrisome until Neil turns to find Andrew struggling with his shoes. There’s a quiet question in Neil’s eyes when he kneels in front of Andrew, and Andrew answers by leaning back on the bench. Neil has never been so careful with Andrew as he is when he works around Andrew’s sprained ankle.

Nothing is said while they shower. Andrew washes himself down while leaning on Neil. Neil somehow manages to wash himself with Andrew still using Neil as a crutch. They dry off and get dressed, still wrapped up in a comfortable silence. Nothing is said until they’re sitting on the sofa in the lounge, casually touching at the usual points: shoulders, elbows, knees. 

“They should never have gotten past the defensive line,” Neil says, staring at a spot just above the television.

“No,” Andrew agrees. “But they did.”

Neil’s lips tighten, his eyes narrow. “I should have -”

“No.” This time Andrew’s voice is firm. 

Neil turns his glare on Andrew. “What, so you can take responsibility for my injuries, but I can’t for yours?”

“At this point I should just expect you to get injured every game,” is Andrew’s way of saying yes.

Neil rolls his eyes and snorts. “We don’t have that deal hanging over us anymore. You’re not responsible for me.”

“Au contraire,” Andrew says, “I think now more than ever I am responsible for you.” Confused, Neil tilts his head, waiting for an explanation. Andrew looks away. Maybe those words were a mistake; Andrew’s tongue has gotten looser as the years have passed. “I made a promise to myself,” Andrew says by way of answering Neil’s unspoken question. “No way for you to weasel your way out of that one.”

“Sometimes I hate you,” Neil says, but his voice is soft. And when Andrew tugs on his sleeve, Neil is more than happy to rest his head on Andrew’s shoulder.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "1 or 74 for andreil?? I love your writing so much!!"
> 
> #1 “If you had asked me to stay, I would’ve.”  
> #74 “I didn’t mean what I said.”

The hours between three and five in the morning are liminal. It’s a shifting from late night to early morning. It’s as dark as the night will get and the start of the sunrise. On a college campus, it’s the only two hours where everyone save the severely panicked or sleep-troubled are dead to the world.

Neil throws a small rock off of the roof and doesn’t care that it hits a car. A brand new pack of cigarettes sits next to him on the ledge, unopened. It’s been sitting there like a wound for the last thirty minutes. The wound is self-inflicted. Neil bought the pack earlier in the night, after a run didn’t clear his head. Buying the cigarettes was an impulse and a habit, but that doesn’t explain why it hurts so much. 

He might be able to breathe better if he could inhale the acrid smell of cigarette smoke. But the only calming thing his mother ever gave him is not going to fill the gaping crater in the center of his being. He aches, and he doubts it’s something burning tobacco can cure.

The door to the roof opens with the usual ruckus of rusted hinges and a frame caving in on itself. Neil doesn’t turn. Only Andrew would come looking for him here.

Andrew appears in Neil’s peripheral, standing at the very edge of the roof and leaning forward to look down. Fear widens the hole in Neil’s chest, makes him hurt more. But he doesn’t reach out to grab Andrew’s leg and keep him from falling. Eventually, Andrew sits down. The cigarette pack is between them, and the wound grows larger. Neil wants to crawl out of his skin. He doesn’t want to be next to Andrew right now.

“Are you ever going to stop running?” The apathy that is usually such a balm is now sandpaper on sunburned skin.

“If you had asked me to stay, I would’ve.”

Silence has never been awkward between them, but it is now. He wants to run again. Coming back was a mistake. He had the opportunity to leave and he should have taken it. Andrew doesn’t want him here. The team has it’s shit together now and no longer needs him to act as glue. Neil doesn’t have any ties to cut anymore; he could simply disappear. 

Neil tells himself that he came back for some clothes, for the last two un-cashed bonds, for a duffel bag and his running shoes. He tells himself that he wasn’t hoping for all of this to have been a nightmare, that he still isn’t hoping to wake up at any moment with tonight erased from existence. 

Andrew picks up the pack of cigarettes and looks at it. He fiddles with the edge of the plastic and then replaces the pack on the ledge. Neil doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing. He’s so tense he feels sick.

“I didn’t mean what I said.” Andrew’s voice is steady and sure. 

“Fooled me.” The words bite on the way out, but Neil says them anyway.

“Neil, -”

“Oh, fuck you,” Neil says. He needs to move so he flings his arm out in front of him, a cutting gesture across the campus stretched before them and the horizon swallowed by all of the black. “Fuck you, Andrew. Fuck you and your non-apology and your assumptions and your -” He cuts himself off and throws another rock. The _ting_  of it landing on the hood of someone’s car rises to Neil’s ears and then fades away. 

He hasn’t felt anger like this in a long time.

“What do you want me to say?”

Neil turns on him. “How about you start with ‘I’m sorry’? How about you be more specific about what you didn’t mean to say? Was it the part about my mother? Was it when you said that you should have let me leave last October? Was it when you said that in the end I was always going to be a lie no matter what I did?”

Andrew’s jaw works hard for a full minute before he says, very carefully and without looking at Neil, “I’m sorry.”

“And I’m done with this conversation.” Neil makes to stand up. He’s stopped when Andrew’s hand grabs his wrist and grips tight. “Let me go.”

“We can’t fix anything if you keep running away.”

“There’s nothing to fix!” Neil’s shout hangs in the air and then falls off the edge of the earth. He doesn’t try to get himself under control. He doesn’t care if he wakes up the entire fucking campus. “Tell me what to do, Andrew, because I don’t fucking know what you want.” Andrew says nothing and continues to refuse to look at Neil. Neil has had enough.

The connection of his knuckles on Andrew’s skin feels good, feels justified. 

Andrew jerks Neil close by the grip on his wrist and twists them away from the ledge in the same movement. He slams Neil against the roof; Neil laughs even as the impact echoes through his bones. He gets a fist to his jaw at the same time he plants a knee in Andrew’s sternum. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Andrew asks, voice rough and clipped. His fist is wound tight in the front of Neil’s shirt, his weight heavy on Neil’s thighs. Neil’s grip on Andrew’s wrist is bruising. “Bloody knuckles and a busted lip?”

“I wanted you to show some fucking emotion,” Neil spits. “I wanted you to look me in the eye and tell me the fucking truth. Tell me that you meant all of it, that I’m a waste of your space and you want me gone. Tell me and I’ll go.”

Andrew’s glare should be leaving cuts across Neil’s face, it’s so sharp. “I can only do one of those,” he says. “I already told you; I didn’t mean what I said. I was pissed off and you…. I lashed out at you, unfairly.” 

Neil releases Andrew’s wrist and lets his arm fall to the roof. His intention had never been to fight. Andrew gets off of Neil and returns to the edge of the roof, sitting with his feet dangling. With a heavy sigh, Neil follows. 

The pack of cigarettes is still between them. Andrew reaches out and his hand hovers, an unasked question. “It’s your brand,” Neil answers. 

Andrew doesn’t say anything until he’s smoked his way through two cigarettes. “I don’t know how to hold onto good things.”

“What makes you think I do?” Neil looks at Andrew, and Andrew, with a bruise already forming on his jaw, looks back. His eyes are molten in the orange lights from the street lamps below them. Neil proffers his hand and Andrew snatches it like a lifeline. “I don’t,” Neil says, just to clarify. He squeezes Andrew’s hand and gets a thumb brushed over a split knuckle in return. “We’ll figure it out eventually. But we can’t do that if we aren’t together.”

“You’re the one that keeps running,” Andrew says, but Neil can hear the smile bitten back behind his lips.

“Asshole,” Neil mutters, but he’s smiling too.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "Angst is my favorite thing to read what is wrong with me but anyway what about Andrew almost relapsing and Neil or Betsy stopping him?"
> 
> tw for self-harm and blood

The dripping of Andrew’s blood into the sink is steadying in a way he doesn’t understand but isn’t ready to challenge. He counts off the dripping, one drop per second, and when he gets lost in the rhythm he drags another line across his arm. Too deep. He bites his tongue and hits the heel of his palm against the vanity. The slip in control is worse than the bite of the cut and the thick rivulets of blood that race each other down his arm. 

He shuffles the razor between his fingers as he surveys his arm. His life with Cass Spear is buried under his scars. He toys with the idea of digging around under his skin just to see if he can find that piece of himself and rip it from his body. It might be worth all of the blood and mess. 

Another cut, just as straight as the last five and the exact same length. The pain is not grounding, but it is steady and it is real and he’s in control of it. The drip of blood into the sink counts off half seconds now, but it’s still steady. Andrew curls his hand into a fist and the blood flows faster, relaxes his hand and it slows down. 

The knocks on the bathroom door are unexpected and loud to Andrew’s ears. He freezes. It’s the middle of the night; Neil isn’t supposed to be awake.

“Andrew?” Neil’s voice has the slow and heavy tone of one still half asleep. “Andrew, hurry up, I need to pee.”

“Go downstairs.” He knows his voice is too hard when Neil tests the doorknob, finds it locked. 

“Why can’t I come in?”

Andrew clenches his fist again, and the blood drips faster. The deeper cut pours blood. It’s a mourning, of sorts, but maybe he’s better for it. He unlocks the bathroom door, and Neil is over the threshold just as fast as Andrew can draw his hand back.

The changes in Neil’s expression are as rapid as his icy blue eyes taking in the scene. _Scene_. Andrew tastes the word and discards it. _Scene_  implies a crime, implies a murder. This is just a bathroom.

There is something haunted living behind Neil’s eyes when he drags them up to Andrew’s. Andrew refuses to feel bad. Neil isn’t supposed to be here. The blood never should have been in his line of sight. Now it’s going to get on Neil’s hands, and where is the control in that? The blood is just a side effect, anyway. The pain is the priority.

“Are those because of me?” Neil asks, and oh, Andrew hates that self-destructive part of Neil almost as much as he hates how the question feels like a kick to his gut.

He’s not going to lie to Neil. They promised each other that they would never lie. “Not entirely.”

A shutter slams over Neil’s expression, and Andrew can feel the crash of it settle in his bones. He doesn’t feel guilty about cutting himself; it felt necessary in the moment, and it feels justified now. That doesn’t mean he feels good about the way Neil is already distancing himself from the situation, from Andrew. 

“But I have something to do with it?”

Andrew decides that not answering is less damaging than saying yes. 

Neil closes his eyes like a man burdened, and nods once, short and clipped over tense shoulders. When Neil opens them again, his eyes are on Andrew’s arm. “Can I….” Teeth sink into that full lower lip. It’s not often that Neil is found searching for words. “I can leave.”

“No,” Andrew says, and the word is a sigh. 

Andrew is more than a little familiar with the fortification process that he watches in Neil now. “Can I touch you?”

Giving up control after carving it from his skin seems counterproductive, but Andrew says yes anyway. He drops the razor onto the edge of the sink and runs his arm under the faucet while Neil digs around for the bandages that so frequently accessorize Neil’s skin. It’s odd in an unbalanced way that their roles are reversed now.

Neil is not a gentle nurse. He uses rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball to clean all six cuts, and the way he rubs perpendicular to the lines has Andrew grinding his teeth. “Stop bitching,” Neil says, though Andrew hasn’t spoken a word. The sharp retort on Andrew’s tongue withers and dies when he notices the mess Neil has already made of his bottom lip. 

It takes four layers of white bandages before the red stops bleeding through. Neil rips off the strip and tapes it down, and then he disappears. Andrew is used to being left to pick up the pieces, but he’s not used to being made whole and then finding that his supports have rotted away.

Andrew knows that he doesn’t owe Neil anything. He is allowed his own bodily autonomy, at the very least. He isn’t going to be controlled anymore.

But he goes after Neil anyway.

The rest of the house is asleep when Andrew goes downstairs. Neil’s shoes are gone, and Andrew narrows his eyes. Of course Neil would run. But now that Andrew’s down here, he’s itching for a cigarette, so he grabs his pack and shoves his way onto the porch. 

Neil is sitting on the top step, staring into some middle distance that Andrew can’t see.

There’s a habitual ease that Andrew settles into when he lowers himself to sit beside Neil, when he lights two cigarettes and passes one over. He resolutely begins dragging on his cigarette. He’s not going to talk unless Neil wants to know.

Of course, Neil wants to know. “Why? Maybe not… you don’t have to tell me everything, but I deserve to know my role in it.”

Some part of Andrew is relieved that Neil isn’t demanding everything. The rest of him knew that Neil wouldn’t. Neil, of all people, understands that some information is more useful and grounding when it’s kept secret. But Neil’s right, and that’s the easiest reason to explain. “I’m not always convinced that you’re not a fever dream.”

Neil brings the cigarette closer to his face, and the cherry illuminates Neil’s furrowed brow. “We’re back to this again? I’m not a hallucination.”

Andrew looks at Neil’s scars, red and angry in the glow of the cigarette, and he’s reminded of how they looked when Neil came back from Baltimore. No, Neil is not a hallucination. Someone who has been through so much pain and caused Andrew so much panic has to be real. “All bedrooms look the same in the middle of the night. Trying to ground myself by looking at you doesn’t work if my body’s numb.” 

It’s obvious that Neil doesn’t completely understand, and Andrew is grateful. He doesn’t want Neil to understand. Andrew would raze the world to the ground.

“And that’s enough to make you cut yourself?” 

Andrew drags in a long breath, appreciating the sting of Neil’s directness. “Not on its own.” They have reached the extent of the knowledge that Neil was looking for. Andrew isn’t going to answer any more questions tonight.

Neil asks one anyway. “How can I help?”

A dog barks a block or two away. When it quiets down, the only sound is the gentle sizzle of fire consuming tobacco and paper. Andrew finishes his cigarette and flicks the butt away. He droops his arms over his knees and tilts his head back. The stars are barely visible this far into suburbia, but the brightest ones still manage to shine through the contamination.

When Neil’s cigarette burns itself out, Andrew is the first on his feet. “Come back to bed,” he says, and convinces himself that it’s not an answer.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "does Andrew ever have nightmares about it being Neil under Drake instead of him? and do those fears ever manifest in their everyday life? (why do I always ask for painful fics.. god idk)"
> 
> tw for mentions of sexual abuse

Drake is a frequent antagonist in Andrew’s dreams. At this point, Andrew has come to terms with the fact that he’s used to it. That doesn’t mean the dreams aren’t terrifying, and it definitely doesn’t mean that Andrew doesn’t need five seconds every time he wakes up to orient himself and consciously register the fact that there is no weight on his back.

Neil has no ties to these nightmares. Neil is there in the aftermath, slow to roll over and check on Andrew when he wakes up and immediately presses his back to the wall. Neil is safe, in more ways than one.

Until Neil tells Andrew about Lola.

Until Neil tells Andrew about a Raven who took too many liberties in the black pit of that court. 

Then his nightmares blur and it’s not himself under Drake, with his grip like a vice on the headboard, laughing through it because it would hurt too much to scream. Neil has taken his place. 

Here is where Andrew’s eidetic memory haunts him. Because he knows Neil’s face even in the depths of his subconscious. He remembers what it felt like to have Drake pin him down, and he knows that for Neil it’s worse. Neil isn’t as callused as Andrew is.

But Neil doesn’t laugh in Andrew’s dreams, because Neil wouldn’t laugh. Neil’s mouth opens in a cut-off scream and then his jaw clenches and his eyes squeeze closed and Andrew can’t fucking stand the way Drake’s fingers knot in Neil’s hair and press down between his shoulder blades to hold him in place.

Andrew can’t do anything to stop it, and he can’t look away.

Neil finds Andrew in the morning, shaking from the cold and more, standing on the porch in nothing other than loose sweatpants. Neil doesn’t ask, and Andrew is glad because he doesn’t want to answer. He lets Neil lead him inside and guide him into a hot shower. He presses Neil’s back against the wall and gives and gives until his heart is raw and whole. It’s only fair that Neil makes Andrew feel in oxymorons. 

As with most dreams, this doesn’t turn into a nightly occurrence. But when the nightmares do happen, they are loud and they grip Andrew with icy fingers and choke him with his own fear and guilt and pain until he wakes up gagging and startles away from Neil’s concerned touch like a wild animal. 

Andrew feels himself pulling further away from Neil with each nightmare but he can’t help it. Somewhere along the way, the line between Andrew and Drake began blurring in his nightmares, and now Andrew doesn’t trust himself with Neil’s safety even when he’s awake.

It comes to a head during a game against Breckenridge. Gorilla has been looking for revenge against Neil since year one, and today he gets it. He slams Neil against the wall and holds him there with his body, deaf to the referees’ whistles and the shouts of teammates. Andrew only remembers feeling a wave of rage, but he finds himself beside Neil before the referees get there, raising his racquet the way he imagines Aaron raised his against Drake. 

Neil stops Andrew with a shout in time for him to make the blow glancing, and on Gorilla’s shoulder instead of his helmet. 

Andrew doesn’t let Neil leave the dorm all weekend. He replays the scenario with an image of Drake superimposed. He touches Neil’s shoulder and his hair and traces his scars, and Neil stays quiet for once in his lie of a life and doesn’t ask Andrew why.

He doesn’t have to ask. He figures it out.

With increasing frequency, Andrew finds himself underestimating Neil’s intelligence, or at least his tenacity at figuring out how Andrew works. Andrew would put a stop to it if he thought Neil would do him harm.

But he knows Neil never would. 

They stay up all night on Saturday, kissing and talking and touching. Andrew is freezing, phantom hands covering old bruises. He sees the frostbite mirrored on Neil’s skin. Neil asks where, Andrew touches with a fingertip, and Neil covers the invisible marks with his mouth. Andrew feels dissected. 

He pulls Neil on top of him because Neil is being insistent and Andrew doesn’t trust himself on top of Neil. Neil sinks down slow and gentle and never stops whispering, telling Andrew how good it feels, breathing his name like a broken prayer to a god who has never listened. Andrew raises himself up and crushes Neil’s mouth to his own, threading his fingers through Neil’s auburn curls and greedily stealing the heat of his pleasure.

Neil ends up flush against Andrew’s side, head pillowed on Andrew’s chest. The position is constricting in its freedom. Neil murmurs something inaudible, probably not meant for Andrew’s ears, but the warm hand against his side says more than a string of syllables ever could.

Neil needn’t worry, though. Andrew has no intentions of going anywhere.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "So #20 for andreil. I literally love angst but you can do whatever"
> 
> #20 “Something’s clearly wrong.”

Hospitals have never been so quiet. Never mind the sounds of machines blurring into white noise in the background. Never mind Andrew’s own heart rushing blood past his ears in a rhythm Andrew would give anything not to hear. 

“ _The Mustang’s number eighteen striker, Neil Josten, just took a hard hit against the wall. He… he doesn’t appear to be moving. Something’s clearly wrong. Can we call… ah, yes, the referees are taking an executive move and calling the game to a pause.”_

Andrew starts to count off Neil’s injuries – again – because it’s better than hearing that announcer’s voice repeat in his head one more time. Broken ulna, dislocated and then relocated shoulder, severe sprain of his left ankle, heavy bruising, and brain swelling that led to an induced coma.

Each breath Neil takes sounds like it might be his last, but each beat of his heart brings him back.

Every time Andrew closes his eyes, the circumstances of Neil’s injuries play and rewind in his head like an awful home video. The impact of the backliner’s chest piece into Neil’s shoulder guards sounds like a bag of bones dropping to the floor. The slam of Neil into the wall is a punch to Andrew’s chest. The kick to Neil’s head when the backliner trips over him rings in Andrew’s ears like a heavy silence. 

Andrew thinks his teeth might break with how hard he clenches his jaw.

He doesn’t want this to be the last memory he has of Neil, but he can’t convince himself that it won’t be.

There are enough years between his life as a foster kid, as a juvenile offender, as a drugged-up college student, as a scarred man who found a reason to live in a red-headed asshole with a stupid mouth and a sharp tongue…. There are enough years between then and now for Andrew to recognize the acidic burning of fear in the bottom of his stomach.

_“Something’s clearly wrong. Can we call…”_

Andrew shoves out of the chair, but once he’s on his feet he doesn’t know what to do. Neil’s room is on the third floor, in the east wing of the hospital at the end of the hall. This information passes in and out of Andrew’s thoughts without carrying any weight. He’s not going to leave. Just because Neil won’t wake up until the doctor’s let him doesn’t mean that Andrew feels comfortable leaving him alone in the hospital.

Andrew’s distrust of hospitals is only trumped by his distrust of hospital staff.

He paces to rid himself of anxious energy. It doesn’t help. Everything narrows down to the suffocating feeling of being in a small private room with his… with Neil, who is injured and forced deep into unconsciousness on the bed. Andrew has watched Neil sleep before, has stared for what felt like hours at messy curls and long curved lashes resting on defined cheekbones.

This is not the same thing.

Neil looks fragile tucked in beneath pale blue sheets. His hair may as well be blood with the way it spills over the starch white pillow.

When Andrew sits down again, he chooses the edge of the bed over the chair. Neil’s hand is warm but lifeless under his own. He can count Neil’s pulse in his wrist, but there’s no flicker of consciousness beneath his eyelids. “Wake up,” Andrew says. “Make your stupid brain stop swelling and wake up.” The doctor doesn’t know how long Neil will need to be kept under. It’s entirely contingent upon how long it takes for the pressure on his brain to relax. 

Given where the kick landed, they’re not sure what kind of damage to expect. Probably none, a nurse assured. Andrew knows all of the possibilities, though. At worst, his cerebellum could have taken the brunt of the blow. Or his occipital lobe. At best, Neil will wake up with a staggering headache.

Never in their lives have they encountered a best-case scenario.

It’s been three hours, thirteen minutes, and forty-five, -six, -seven seconds since Neil was medically induced into a coma.

Andrew settles in. “I’m not going home without you.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for several anons
> 
> "I'LL FUCKJN FIGHT THE UNIVERSE MYSELF TO GET IT TO START LETTING GOOD THINGS HAPPEN TO THESE BOYS (20 fic continuation with 45 or 71 with "the best case scenario")"  
> "Okay so I too am always a slut for angst, but I’m also a major softie so I’d die without happy endings. Pretty please do a part II of the #20 prompt??? Bonus points for Neil being a little shit about catching Andrew getting all mother-hen over him."  
> "Will you do a sequel to the Neil coma fic?"  
> "I feel like reading your angst is like me asking you to step on my heart with stilettos on (but like in a good way?? somehow??) It’s like these boys suffered so much in canon that I feel bad wanting them to suffer more but like… the angst tho… But then again I’m always a sucker for a happy ending… So could you continue your prompt 20 post using prompt 59??"
> 
> #45 “What are you looking at?”  
> #71 “You don’t get to pick and choose. You’re stuck with me.”

Neil regains consciousness in increments, and it’s nothing like waking up. He feels like he’s floating, and then he feels heavy, and he’s aware that he’s in a bed but he’s not sure of anything else. He’s sure he’s forgetting about something, like there’s a scrap of information at the back of his mind but it’s hidden behind heavy boxes that won’t budge. He would need Andrew to move all of that baggage.

 _Andrew_.

Neil becomes aware of someone talking to him, but it’s not Andrew. He knows that; it’s the only thing he’s certain of. 

He opens his eyes because he needs to know if Andrew is nearby. The first person he sees is a middle-aged woman smiling at him. Beside her stands a twenty-something man in polkadot scrubs. Neil frowns and turns his head the other way. Andrew’s eyes lock with his, and Neil feels less like there’s a stack of cinderblocks on his chest. HIs breath falls heavy from his parted lips, and for a moment he allows his eyes to close, knowing that Andrew is there to keep him safe.

“Neil,” the woman says, trying to get his attention. He wants none of it. He wants her to go away. But when he tries his voice to tell her to fuck off, nothing happens. He parts his lips, but there’s a heavy silence between his brain and his vocal chords. “Neil,” she tries again. Neil can feel panic settling in, and as it takes hold of him, he becomes more and more aware of the disconnect between his brain and his body.

He remembers the impact of the other player, the collision against the wall. He hit his head. Neil’s instant fear is paralyzation.

“Stop it,” Andrew says. Neil watches Andrew’s mouth move, takes note of the hard cast to his eyes. Andrew’s weight is heavy and welcome on the edge of the bed. “Stop panicking. Breathe.”

Neil tries. He breathes. He leans into the fingers Andrew presses to the pulse on his neck and relies on that to keep his heartbeat in check, despite the very audible heart monitor to his left. Neil works his throat again, parts his lips, and says, “Hi.”

“I think I deserve a bit more than a ‘hi,’” Andrew says. Neil has no doubt that, to the nurse and the doctor, Andrew sounds bored or even annoyed, somehow detached from the situation. But to Neil, who has had over a decade to figure out how Andrew works, he sounds downright relieved. 

Neil wants to ask how long he’s been unconscious, how bad he’s hurt, why Andrew looks so rough around the edges, why his eyes feel so heavy, _fuck_. But he can’t get his mouth to work fast enough to keep up with his thoughts. In the end he wraps his fingers around Andrew’s wrist, tugging Andrew’s hand away from his neck and winding their fingers together. Andrew’s hand is solid, and Neil feels tethered in an otherwise brutal storm.

The slight head tilt Andrew gives him feels like a conceded point.

“Neil,” the doctor says, trying once more to get his attention. 

Maybe Andrew sees the exhaustion on Neil’s face, maybe Andrew is getting annoyed with the doctor too, but regardless he turns around and levels a glare at her. “Why are you still here?” Neil doesn’t for a second move his eyes from Andrew’s face, but he hears the doctor make an offended noise. Andrew plows on ahead. “We know. Take it slow. Don’t rush. ‘You’ve been unconscious for a long time’ etcetera.”

“Excuse me?”

Andrew stands up. The set to his shoulders is defensive. He’s willing to fight for this. Neil makes a grab for him, but Andrew pulls away. “Leave.”

The doctor wises up and, instead of arguing, actually goes away, taking the nurse with her. Neil wants to reprimand Andrew for being rude, but he can’t deny the panic that eases from his chest now that it’s just them in the room. He can’t deny the urge he felt to pull a knife on the doctor and her nurse, to incapacitate them and then run and run until his past is no longer in his peripheral.

It’s hard convincing himself that that’s not the life he lives anymore. 

Andrew sits down slowly, body tense. Neil is all too familiar with how long it’s been since he’s caused Andrew to react so much.

“What are you looking at?” Andrew snaps, his eyes still on the door.

Neil’s sigh is slow and tired. “My husband.”

Andrew snorts, unamused. “Not for much longer. We’re forever paying off your hospital bills.”

“You don’t get to pick and choose,” Neil says, but he’s smiling. He understands; he heard the ‘we’ and he knows what it means. “You’re stuck with me.”

Feeling slowly creeps back into Neil’s limbs. He’s a bit confused on what day it is, can’t really remember the _exact_  circumstances surrounding his injuries, isn’t sure why he’s been unconscious or for how long. He picks up Andrew’s hand and presses rough knuckles to his lips. He is sure of the soft edge to Andrew’s gaze, and, as far as Neil’s concerned, that’s all he needs to know.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "uhm! your neil with drake instead of andrew prompt murdered me DEAD. could you write about when neil told andrew about lola and that opportunistic raven?? angst ensues"
> 
> chapter 29 is the original prompt

Evening sets in, and all the lights in the suite are off. The TV provides the only illumination; it flickers with abstract color combinations, dimming and brightening as the scenes change. The sound is turned down low, still audible, but not overwhelming. The subtitles are turned on to make up for the missed dialogue. 

Andrew is expecting it when Neil draws away and positions himself with his back against the opposite armrest. Neil’s been quiet all day, so Andrew knew it was only a matter of time before he decided to break and come clean.

“I need to tell you something,” Neil says. 

The introduction sets Andrew on edge. Usually, Neil just talks, saying what’s on his mind and getting it over with. There’s no sense in wasting words or time, and Andrew has a deep respect for that. That Neil would take the time to tell Andrew what’s going on is an obvious offering; the warning gives Andrew enough time to fortify himself for what Neil is about to say. 

“I know,” Andrew says, and it sounds like  _go on_.

Neil’s toes are cold when he shoves them under Andrew’s thigh. Though the chill is annoying, the connection is welcome. “I owe you an explanation for the nightmares.” It must be really bad for Neil to need so many excuses to speak.

“I wasn’t expecting payment for those.” Andrew offers a way out like he always does.

Neil grimaces and tips his head just slightly to the side. “It’s a donation, then.” 

Andrew turns sideways on the sofa, shoving a pillow between his back and the armrest to make himself more comfortable. He has a feeling that this may take a while. Neil pulls his feet back towards himself now that Andrew’s thigh is no longer covering them, but Andrew drapes his calf across his toes, and Neil leaves them where they are. The light from the TV plays with the left side of Neil’s face, where the burn scars are. It flickers through Neil’s curls, making them look more like flames than ever. Neil is always burning, but right now his fire is dimmed low.

“There are still some things I haven’t told you about Baltimore. And a lot of things I haven’t told you about my Christmas at Evermore.” 

Both of those events happened last year. Andrew wonders what triggered them enough to cause Neil such violent nightmares. He stares levelly across the expanse of the sofa, waiting for Neil to lift his head and meet his gaze. He doesn’t.

“So, Lola had this weird obsession with my dad,” is how Neil starts, and it rapidly falls downhill from there.

Andrew realizes now why Neil gave Andrew the warning. 

Neil’s monotone is Andrew’s only savior, because Neil holds nothing back. Andrew has never wanted him to, and certainly doesn’t now, but…  _fuck_. He doesn’t want to hear about Neil dealing with Lola in that trunk where he was bleeding and tied up and unable to get away. He doesn’t want to hear about the Raven who had  _permission_  from Riko to fuck Neil. Andrew does not want to hear it, but that’s exactly why he has to.

So he listens. He stares at Neil and he listens until the words stop and the hushed volume of the TV once more takes over the room.

Andrew doesn’t say anything like “it’s not your fault” or “thank you for telling me” or “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t try to reassure Neil with a “Riko and Lola are dead.” They would be wasted words. 

He touches Neil’s knee instead, drawing his attention. Neil’s responding sigh is weary, but he grabs Andrew’s hand and presses a couple fingers to his pulse. Andrew squeezes Neil’s fingers and then pulls away. He positions his body where it was before. “You’re making me miss my show.”

For a moment, all Neil does is stare, but then he smiles and huffs out a laugh and resumes his position at Andrew’s side.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for two anons
> 
> "Hello, do you still take prompts? Expanding on the idea that sometimes Andrew unintentionally fuck up because he's not used to having something precious to be careful around (aka Neil), the first time they have an argument and Andrew raised his voice. Neil flinches, recalling Nathan, and Andrew, ever so observant, immediately notices and his annoyance immediately crumbles and concern takes its place."  
> "For the sentence starter prompts: “don’t yell at me” + andreil + angst"

It’s been so long since Andrew has seen Neil mad that he’s forgotten what it looks like. It’s beautiful. An angry Neil is consumed by flushed skin and hard eyes. His mouth becomes an iron rod that twists and twists the more worked up he gets. Andrew can appreciate the spark on the oil spill across the room from him even if he’s seething, with all of his rage brimming to the surface and bubbling like so much acid. 

He can feel the need to yell raging against his ribs, but he lets it rip his throat to shreds instead of allowing the anger to get that far. At least, that was his initial plan. But Neil has been throwing accusations at him with the same skill and deadly accuracy that he has with knives, and Andrew is breaking because they’re all  _true_. He knows, he  _knows_  that he’s been treating Neil like shit. He knows and he didn’t know how to ask Neil for help and so he just kept doing it.

“Look at me,” Neil demands, and Andrew can’t stand it.

“What do you want from me?” It’s not a shout, but only just barely. His voice raised, cracked, shattering the otherwise decently civil (though one-sided) conversation they were having.

The worst part isn’t that all sound drops off with the last tendril of Andrew’s lost control. Silence will never be the worst part of anything, not for him. Even the tension, so palpable between them, isn’t the worst part.

No, the worst part is how quiet Neil is when he says, “Don’t yell at me.”

Andrew swallows and stares. He doesn’t know what to say, might fracture things more if he speaks, so he waits. The flicker of his anger didn’t set Neil’s kerosine on fire - this time. He’s not willing to risk it again. Silence is better. 

Neil drags in a slow breath. It shakes. Andrew curls a fist and feels like killing all of the people who have ever made Neil afraid. 

He realizes that he might be on that list. Should be on that list.

“Andrew,” Neil says, and his voice is steady but  _fuck_ , it’s still so quiet. It makes Andrew’s outburst seem even louder. “Andrew, look at me.”

He does. Neil’s flush his gone, his eyes turned soft and limpid. His mouth is a broken bird. And Andrew did this. Andrew reduced Neil from something fierce to something hollow. It’s so easy to forget that Neil is haunted by his past just as much as - probably more than - Andrew, so easy to let that abrasive personality and that razor sharp tongue become the only thing Andrew focuses on. That’s why they’re in this situation. 

Andrew forgot that Neil knows all too well how to break.

With Andrew’s attention, Neil tries again. “Let’s go for a drive.”

Some deeply-buried memory of his drug-infused self wants to refuse out of sheer pettiness, wants to tell Neil no just to see what happens. 

He walks to the dresser and grabs the keys without looking at Neil.

They drive for hours. Or, rather, Andrew drives. Neil is a silent passenger, taking up space and saying nothing. They share the cigarette pack until it’s gone, and then, off the edge of the interstate, they stop for more.

Andrew drives them to the middle of nowhere, the end of the world. He slams on the brakes and parks the car, feeling like if he drives any further he’ll stop existing. They’re in the middle of South Carolina, doesn’t matter where. One more mile, one more rotation of tires, and the world might give out and send Andrew into free fall.

Neil gets out before Andrew, before the engine is even shut off, and meets him at the hood of the car. Andrew sits down next to him, staring out over the expanse of grass and trees and nothing and thinking that perhaps this is where he should stay. Nothing belongs nowhere.

But then, if Neil is nothing, he would have to stay too.

“I can’t get rid of you,” Andrew growls, and it’s an accusation and a plea all rolled up into one tight uncomfortable feeling in his chest.

Neil looks halfway to amused before he seems to remember that this is meant to be a serious conversation. He pulls his cigarette up to his face, stares at it in contemplation before taking a drag. He screws up his face when the smoke hits his lungs, but apparently that was what he needed, because he starts talking. “I don’t expect you to tell me everything, but I need you to stop treating me like I’m not… like we’re not….”

Talking has always been one of Neil’s strengths. That it’s failing him now snags and hold’s Andrew’s attention.

“I don’t like fighting with you. And I can take a lot, Andrew, but… not this.” Neil tapers out. The hours of driving spooked the anger and resentment out of both of them.

“That’s not a promise I can make,” Andrew says, staring at the horizon and flicking ash from his cigarette, “but I’ll try.” It’s not much to offer. It’s a roll of tape trying to mend a shattered bone. It’s nothing, useless.

But Neil takes it in both hands and cups it like it’s something special. He smiles at Andrew. The turn of his mouth is tentative and holds the graveyard of hurt that Andrew’s shouting dredged up from his past. Neil looks like Baltimore, looks ready to bury himself among the piles of skeletons and rotting corpses.

So Andrew touches his cheek, takes his hand, counts Neil’s scars and stares off at the darkness encroaching on the horizon.

When it’s time to go home, Neil drives.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "165 + 170"
> 
> 165: “ Do you like it when I touch you like that?”  
> 170: “ Bend over. ”
> 
> TW for rape

Neil recognizes the smell of the man’s lingering body wash first. It stains the room like blood, severe enough that Neil already tastes copper as he’s slowly dragged out of his dream. A belt jingles as it’s unbuckled, dropping to the floor with a thud. Neil should open his eyes, face the intruder and maybe put up a fight. But there’s no point, really. Neil knows who has come calling in the middle of the night, and he knows that a fight will do him no good.

A weight settles onto the bed, two points to make it feel larger - hands pressing down on the mattress, just enough to disturb Neil into shifting away from the body he knows is ready to break him. “Riko said I could have you if I finished before two,” Sean says. Neil doesn’t doubt him. 

There’s no room on the dorm bed for two people, so Sean stays standing, but his hands roam anyway. Neil flinches and tries to curl up, but that just makes Sean shift his focus elsewhere. It’s too late at night - too early in the morning to be causing a huge ruckus, and Sean has always been so, so methodically patient at wearing Neil down, at breaking him slowly and without any real effort on his part. 

Neil feels betrayed when his body reacts to Sean. He doesn’t want it, would rather tear himself to ribbons using only his fingernails, but his body isn’t listening. This is why Sean is worse than the others. Sean likes to brag about making Neil come, too.

“Do you like it when I touch you like that?” Sean’s voice is a breathy pant in the dark. Neil bites his lip so that he doesn’t make a sound, knowing that anything at this point would encourage Sean.

Time blurs, shifts, and Neil doesn’t know how it happens but he’s in a different room, standing in front of another Raven, one who’s seated in a plastic fold chair with his hands clasped lazily behind his head. The lights are on. Neil is stripped bare. 

There are other men in the room, arguing, fighting over who gets Neil first. 

“Bend over,” the man in front of him says, pointing at his half-hard dick with obvious intent. 

Neil hesitates for a fraction of a second, and suddenly there’s body weight against his back, pressing down as if he’s still prone. A hand at the back of his neck pushes his head down, down -

He comes awake with a cough and a poor attempt at retching that ends in him choking on his saliva. He thrashes and rolls, trying to get free of the blankets that feel like hands, and in his desperation, the bed falls out from under him and he crashes to the floor. The ache in his hip, in his elbow, doesn’t even register. He’s too hot, as if he’s running a fever, but he’s shivering like mad.

“Neil?” Andrew asks, his voice filling the room in a sleep-scratchy baritone that usually soothes Neil. But now it makes him flinch. He debates for a moment crawling under the bed to hide away for the rest of the night. But he can’t.

There’s no point in answering when Andrew knows it’s the truth. So Neil pushes himself onto his ass and pulls his knees to his chest. He hooks his hands behind his head and curls himself into a ball. He feels safer on the floor, safer when his body is as small as he can make it with his limbs locked. 

He swallows and the weight of a dick settles on his tongue and follows the saliva down his throat. He retches again, scrambling for the small garbage can underneath the nightstand, but nothing comes up. His body must know something that his head doesn’t, though Neil is having a hard time trusting his body right now.

“Neil.” The phantom weight of that Raven’s hand on the back of his neck solidifies with the pressure of Andrew’s fingers. Neil flinches with his whole body, startled by the touch when he hadn’t heard Andrew move on the bed. Andrew’s hand is gone so fast it feels like a gunshot, and it leaves Neil as hollow as a smoking shell.

“S-sorry,” he manages, pushing his sweaty palms through his hair.

The bed finally creaks as Andrew moves to the edge of the bed. “Shut up,” Andrew says, and that indifference is soothing. There’s no intent there, no destruction. Neil doesn’t feel pinned by those words. Andrew is not part of his nightmares. He moves closer to Neil, but only so that he can dangle his legs beside him, in Neil’s line of sight. The lamp clicks on, bathing the room in a soft amber glow. 

They’re a long way from Evermore and its dungeon, a long way from the last residual nightmare Neil had. It’s still clinging to him, a huge spiderweb that knows where to hide. 

Andrew is very good at being motionless. Neil has never been more grateful. They sit in their bedroom in Denver for nearly an hour, with Neil’s loud breaths and occasional coughs the only sounds saving them from drowning. Andrew isn’t going to ask, which usually makes Neil want to tell him - but not tonight.

Tomorrow, Andrew will ask if it’s alright to touch Neil’s neck, and in the light of day after a scalding shower, Neil will probably say yes. But right now Neil only says, “I don’t think I can go back to sleep,” and Andrew says something about wanting a cigarette and some coffee to keep him awake before leaving the room. 


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for an anon
> 
> "131+132+147 for the prompts maybe? you're amazing xx"
> 
> 131: “ Lets run away together. ”  
> 132: “ I haven’t slept in four days… ”  
> 147: “ I can take care of myself just fine.”

The school is buzzing. And hot. Summer starts early in California and the fucking air conditioning isn’t working. Figures. The long sleeves don’t help, Andrew knows, but a little sweat isn’t going to make him stop wearing them. The heat isn’t really the problem right now. The problem is the red-head a year below Andrew, the one who showed up unexpectedly two months into the school year with a smile and a mother whose hair was just a touch more orange. Andrew remembers her, though he hasn’t seen her since. He hasn’t seen the kid that often, either - Jake is his name, Andrew thinks - except at lunch or in the rush around the lockers. 

He sees Jake now, though, just like everybody else.

The black eye is awful, puffy and out of place on that fine-boned pale face. The flesh looks dead, bloated, ready to burst. Andrew can almost believe it actually is, with the haunted look to the kid’s eyes. And all of the pretty girls are swarming him like flies, their jock boyfriends in the background ready to strip Jake of everything that he is if he makes the wrong move. The lack of personal space is making more than just Jake uncomfortable.

Andrew slams his locker and marches across the hall. He doesn’t even have to touch any of them; all he has to do is glare, and they scatter, exposing the carrion that had been about to become their next meal. 

Jake looks at him with shocking green eyes - well, eye, given that his left is pinched painfully shut - and a firm set to his mouth. “I can take care of myself just fine.”

Oh.  _Oh._ This might be more interesting than Andrew had originally thought. Maybe he should have talked to Jake sooner. It seems the shy boy has a mouth on him.

“Yes, you looked like you were doing a fantastic job keeping the buzzards away,” Andrew says. “Next time I’ll wait until they’ve stripped your bones.” When Jake just continues to look at him, Andrew strains not to sigh. “Idiot. Come with me.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” 

Andrew’s expression drops at the sudden weary edge to Jake’s tone. He’s turned into a deer, body frozen and leaning away, tense and watching and seconds away from fleeing. A locker slams, and it’s instinct for Andrew’s eyes to snap toward the sound. A mistake. When he looks in front of him again, Jake has slipped away into the crowd.

–

Jake finds Andrew four days later. The swelling has gone down in his eye, enough to expose the green iris, which stands out against the black and purple bruise like a neon sign. Andrew stands up as soon as Jake walks up to his table, and they leave the cafeteria together with no words between them. Andrew has learned over the years to read body language. Jake finally wants to talk.

Seniors and juniors are allowed a free lunch period. Twenty minutes isn’t enough time to make a run to a restaurant or even a fast food chain down the street, but it’s enough time for a cigarette in the parking lot. Andrew leans back against a tree and lights one. Jake eyes the pack and Andrew offers, but is ultimately turned down.

“You look like shit,” Jake says. Andrew can feel the weight of the heavy bags under his eyes, the new bruises on his back and his hips. 

“I haven’t slept in four days,” he says, and takes a drag.

“Aw,” Jake’s sarcasm is ice cold, “you shouldn’t worry about me so much. I told you; I can take care of myself.”

Andrew considers correcting Jake for all of five seconds, but in the end he decides that he doesn’t want to go down that road. This conversation isn’t about him. Jake’s the one who wants to talk. “Stop deflecting,” Andrew says around a plume of smoke. “Who hit you?”

“Would you tell anyone if I said ‘my father?’“

The next drag tastes more like bitter satisfaction than chemicals - Andrew had been right. “You’ve told me twice now that you can take care of yourself. Should I report a murder?”

Jake doesn’t even balk at the idea of killing his father. He just blinks at Andrew, and that… that should be setting off warning bells.

All it does is confuse Andrew more, and Andrew hates being confused. 

“Why are you telling me?” Andrew asks, trying to feel out the situation. It’s surreal, looking at another abuse victim. And it’s alarming how quickly Jake admitted to being one. 

Jake looks away, flame-orange hair catching in the sunlight that finds its way through the leaves. For a moment, Andrew thinks that the roots of Jake’s hair are darker, more of a real red and less ginger, but he brushes it off as a trick of the light when Jake faces him again. “Because I’m leaving. My mom and I, we’re heading out tomorrow. I… wanted someone to remember me as more than just… more than just the kid who got a black eye his last week.”

He wants to be remembered as a survivor, Andrew thinks. Well, bully for him. 

Andrew scoffs and flicks away his cigarette. Something thick and gross floods his mouth, coating his tongue and toying with his gag reflex. It takes Andrew longer than a moment to recognize the envy seeping out of him.

“What?” Jake sounds genuinely confused, and maybe a little offended. God, and he would have been  _such_  a good distraction. But he’s leaving, and Andrew doesn’t have enough time to solve him.

“Not all of us can run away from our problems,” Andrew says, and it’s a little too close to a bite, a little too close to lost control. He should walk away. Leave Jake standing here and go back inside. The twenty minute lunch break is almost over; the warning bell is going to ring in three minutes. They have eight minutes to find their next class.

“Come with me,” Jake says.

Andrew turns back to him with raised eyebrows. Only the sheepish way Jake bites his lip keeps Andrew from lashing out with some biting remark about cheesy movies and  _“let’s run away together”_ lines. Andrew can see that the offer was impulsive on Jakes part, as if something reached down his throat and yanked the words out. So he says nothing and waits patiently for Jake to try and re-swallow them.

But he doesn’t. “Well?” Jake asks, rebar sliding into place along his joints, building up his posture and reestablishing his composure. 

Andrew’s current foster mother, Ashley, might not be too happy about him disappearing tomorrow morning. He can imagine cops being called, Pig Higgins trying to give Andrew’s cell number a try and maybe reaching out to nearby task forces to track him down. 

“That’s a lot of extra baggage to be taking on, if you’re trying to disappear,” Andrew says. He wants another cigarette, despite his mouth still full of the last one. “Your mother going to be okay with it?”

“I suppose it never hurts to ask.” 

That’s bullshit. Sometimes asking is the most painful part. But Jake is offering, and Andrew… well, what the fuck is he going to do with his life? He’s graduating in May and has no plans for college yet. The idea of a normal life… he would almost rather kill himself, except he has too many bastards to spite. 

He looks at Jake and sees past the bruised face and the green eyes. He sees a way out. “Where are we going?” he asks. Jake smiles, and for a split second, Andrew feels like the ground drops out of him.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for several anons
> 
> "what the fuck your andriel-meeting-while-in-hs au has me fucked up. i love it. amazing. you considered turning it into more than that one drabble then know that i would def read it."  
> "10/10 would be down for more of that Jake au!!!"  
> "Ohmygod please make that a thing"

Of all the things that Andrew has been forced to give up and change about himself, he’s refused to stop smoking, and he’s refused to stop wearing his armbands. He’s not giving up his nicotine, and no one is seeing his scars.

“Jake” - that’s not his real name, Andrew has learned, and his current name is Noah - doesn’t seem to mind the smoking, though it’s obvious that his mother has tried to quit and is bitter at Andrew for making that worse. Good. Fuck her.

“Antagonizing her isn’t going to help anything,” Jake says, watching Andrew from the corner of his eye as they wait on the sidewalk for “Brenda” to get them from school. 

Andrew drags from his cigarette. He doesn’t care. She hasn’t been welcoming to him since he joined in their little runaway tag-team. Trust must be hard for her, not that he has any pity for a woman who packed up and ran at the first sign of trouble. 

Jake sighs. “You find it amusing, don’t you?”

“Nothing else to entertain me,” Andrew says. He doesn’t want it to sound meaningful, but it does, and Jake isn’t stupid, even when he’s pretending to be.

“What do you want?”

After months of fake IDs and a wealth of backstories, hair dye, and colored contacts, Andrew can feel himself cracking under the layers and the lies. He doesn’t want to be “Chris Schloski” from Wisconsin, adoptive brother of Noah, adoptive son of Brenda. He should have realized that giving up his life of foster home after foster home was going to come with a heavy price. He just didn’t fathom that it would affect him so much.

“Something real,” Andrew says, and flicks the rest of his cigarette into the street. Andrew’s last name has always been fluid, up for debate, but he’s always been able to claim “Andrew” as something that belongs to him. Not AJ, not Drew, but  _Andrew_. The one thing that he could hold onto as he bounced back and forth between abusers. Now even that is gone.

“Hm. I like math,” Jake says. “Not… not just as Noah, but as  _me_.”

Andrew stares, startled by the gift, the honesty. Jake is a liar, and he’s good at it. The fabrication of stories, the easy way he slips on personas like a well-tailored suit. Andrew knows that Jake isn’t the kid’s real name, and he  _wants_  that desperately, but wanting something has never gotten him anywhere, and he doesn’t need Jake shutting down with the mention of the past he fled from.

So Andrew scoffs and says, “I always knew you were fucked in the head.”

That startles a laugh out of Jake, whose hair is now a drab brown, four shades lighter than Andrew’s. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you that I also love Exy. Might scare you away.”

Oh. That tone, that sarcasm and that glint in Jake’s eyes. Andrew has seen that in all of Jake’s personas, and every time he does, something squeezes a little tighter in his chest. That’s the truth, buried so close to the surface that one small scratch could have it flowing out like blood.

“Should have listened to yourself,” Andrew says. “We’re done.” Though he stays right where he is, all too conscious of the lack of space between him and his “adoptive brother.” Jesus, but backstories are a pain in the ass. If they weren’t pretending to be vaguely related, Andrew would have -

No, he wouldn’t. As much interest as Andrew has in Jake, nothing is returned. For that matter, Andrew has never seen Jake look at anyone, of any gender, unless necessary for conversation. He even avoids his  _mother’s_ eyes, which… hm, actually, Andrew is going to have to look into that.

“And what about you?” Jake asks, turned partially towards Andrew.

“What about me?” Andrew counters, arching an eyebrow. He wants Jake to rise to the challenge, wants to see that little bit of heat burst into a full flame.

And  _there_  it is, in the way his eyes catch and hold Andrew’s gaze long enough for it to mean something when he flicks them away. “Well, I gave  _you_  something real. Seems to me that it’s your turn.”

Andrew wants to say that Jake wouldn’t be interested in his life. There’s nothing, well, good to say, at the very least. Nothing much holds Andrew’s attention these days - or ever. But, he supposes, one thing has always been a constant companion alongside the pain and disappointment. “I like to read. Murder mysteries, mostly, but really anything I can get my hands on that fictional and engaging.”

Jake continues to stare across the street for a long while. “Huh. I guess I never would have taken you to be someone who reads for pleasure. Or at all, really, given the minuscule amount of schoolwork I’ve seen you do.” There’s a bit of heat there, maybe jealousy, maybe a warning. Coming from Jake, it’s probably the latter, though a warning for what, Andrew can’t fathom.

One shoulder lifts in a shrug and Andrew wants to light another cigarette, just for something to do while they sit here and wait. “I don’t need to study. They won’t let you flunk high school since it reflects bad on them, and I ace all my tests, anyway.” 

“You have a photographic memory or something?” Jake asks, curious enough to face Andrew again. 

Andrew has already grown bored with where the conversation has headed - with himself as the topic. “Or something,” he says with enough finality in his tone to drop the conversation, and he gives in to the urge to pull out another cigarette and light it.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for a couple anons
> 
> "Yoooo you said you had another scene in mind for that Jake au? cause I'd definitely love to hear about it"  
> "10/10 want that aforementioned other scene"

Mary’s wrist is burning in Andrew’s iron grip, her pulse thrashing against his palm. Mary is her real name; that was a truth Andrew bartered for, along with a real name for Jake - Neil. It’s not his birth name, apparently, but rather a nickname. That’s good enough for Andrew, a truth he hadn’t been expecting, but one that Neil gave him anyway.

Neil has his hand hovering over Andrew’s shoulder, not touching because he didn’t ask. Andrew can feel the burn of Neil’s touch anyway. At least he’s still standing behind Andrew, where Andrew knows he’s safe and can more or less ignore him. Less, usually. Ignoring Neil is as impossible as ignoring a broken leg.

“You’re lucky you’re not dead,” Andrew tells Mary, quiet and flat, all of his fury boiling in his gut and none of it showing on his face. 

Mary stares, struck silent either by Andrew’s quick reaction or his painful grip. Her bones dig into Andrew’s hand from beneath the paper-pale skin her son inherited.

Andrew pulls hard on her wrist, yanking her a step closer. They’re just about the same height, with Mary standing a few inches taller. But right now she’s curled in on herself, body reacting to the pain and trying to lessen it - this puts them eye-to-eye. This close, his threat will carry more weight. “If you hit him again, I will not hesitate to slice you open.”

“You don’t get to tell me -” Mary cuts off when a strangled sound gets caught in her throat. 

“Oh, looks like my hand slipped,” Andrew says, twisting her wrist again. “Do I have to repeat myself?”

“Andrew,” Neil says, soft and wincing, a heart attack waiting to happen. “Andrew, it’s -”

“If you say ‘it’s fine,’ I swear I’ll kill you, too.”

As a testament to how fucked up Neil is, he huffs out a laugh. His hand settles on Andrew’s forearm like a hummingbird, bypassing Andrew’s shoulder completely. At this point, Neil’s touch has turned into a wanted item, something that Andrew greedily collects. It’s not needed right now, but Andrew doesn’t flinch away or shake him off. 

He gloats in the fact that Neil’s touch is what got them into this mess in the first place, and Neil isn’t shying away from repeating it in front of his mother. 

“Let her go, Andrew.” 

Andrew doesn’t want to. It’s strange to want anything, but around Neil he wants  _so much_. To touch, to protect, to kiss, to stay with him for as long as he can. It feels like taking, even now that he knows that Neil gives willingly. 

His grip loosens, and Mary jerks her wrist free and stumbles back to the other side of the room. Andrew watches impassively as she straightens her spine; always so proud and stubborn, just like her son. The set to her jaw makes Andrew think he might have to repeat his warning, but if she’s too stupid to swallow the information the first time, then she’s not worth the effort. 

Neil’s hand slides into the space Mary’s wrist left in Andrew’s palm, and their fingers link effortlessly. No wonder Andrew doesn’t think this  _thing_  with Neil will last - nothing easy ever sticks around for long. Andrew squeezes Neil’s hand and then lets go, heading for the door. It was an invitation, but Neil and his newest bruise don’t follow.

The night is rain-dampened and loud. Andrew looks down the street littered with club-crawlers and leans back against the apartment complex, pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting one. The first inhale hits his lungs with a punch of butane-flavored smoke.

A taxi passes as Neil steps onto the sidewalk, and Andrew stares after it instead of facing his most recent headache. Neil settles beside him and Andrew hates how that settles the riot in his gut. “We can’t leave,” he says, as if Andrew doesn’t already know that. “I won’t just abandon my mother.”

“Your abusive mother.”

“She… it’s complicated.” Neil sounds weary, as if even he doesn’t believe the bullshit coming out of his mouth. Andrew says nothing, waiting for Neil to form words out of the tumble of thoughts very apparently clogging his brain. “She does what she thinks is best for me. Being on the run… you’ve seen it. It’s dangerous. One mistake would be my life.”

Dangerous. Some people who work for Neil’s father had caught up to them two cities back, and Andrew has some new scars to show for the encounter. He likes to think that Neil has a few less because of Andrew’s presence, but Neil still has plenty of his own.

“You could always stop running,” Andrew says.

“You came along because you wanted to run, too,” Neil counters, voice warming as that antagonism brings back the fire in him. “You’re months late if you wanted to call it off.”

Andrew takes one last drag before tossing the butt into a puddle in the street. He finally turns to Neil, reaching out slowly to tilt the idiot’s chin up and to the side. In the low light, it’s hard to make out the mark from Mary’s hand, but the usually pale skin is still red and angry. Andrew touches it lightly, and Neil shivers and catches Andrew’s hand against his cheek. 

“It’s nothing,” Neil says, eyelids drooping, breath heavy with thousands of unshed sighs.

“It should have been nothing.” Andrew glances around them again, more leery now of those after them than he was before. “Yes or no?”

Neil hums, and Andrew falls into the gravity the sound creates. “Yes.”

The kiss is short, is just Andrew making absolutely sure that Mary’s backhand didn’t scare Neil away. By the way Neil’s hands grip the front of Andrew’s shirt, he thinks it’s safe to assume that Neil isn’t going anywhere right this moment.

Andrew leans back. “We should get some sleep.” Neither of them let go. They stare at each other from inches away, desire turning Neil’s eyes into oceans. “Neil,” Andrew says, and Neil’s lips turn up at the corners.

Before Neil can say or do something that will keep them out here any longer, Andrew takes a step away. Neil’s hands drop immediately. Andrew doubts that he’ll ever get over the novelty of being with someone who understands and respects boundaries. 

“Yeah, alright,” Neil says, and he leads the way back inside. Tomorrow, they’re leaving for Seattle, and it’s a long fucking drive. They’re going to need to sleep if they want to be awake at all when they move into the new place. 

For now, though, Andrew is content to follow Neil up the two flights of stairs to their temporary home, where they’ll fall asleep in the same room so that Andrew can continue to keep an eye on Mary and be the first line of defense on the chance that someone broke in. 

Neil stops outside the apartment door, where, inside, Mary is most likely flipping a damn fit because Neil isn’t by her side. But Neil doesn’t seem to give a shit. He just smiles at Andrew and leans in, and Andrew indulges him one last time. One day, they’re going to ditch Mary for a few hours and have some time to themselves. 

One day.


End file.
